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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086071">not yet a corpse but still, he rots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikeshereiam/pseuds/yikeshereiam'>yikeshereiam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i know about things i wish i didn't [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And The Constant Failure That Makes Him Want to Scream, And a Crash Course in Learning to be Human, And the Unsaid Apologies that Follow Budding Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homeless Theo Raeken, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, The Art of Avoiding Confrontation, The Secret Love Language of Near Death Experiences, Theo Raeken's Many Attempts at Reuniting With His Sister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:29:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikeshereiam/pseuds/yikeshereiam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not dying for you.” </p><p>He’s going to die, and it’s going to be for Liam, and he’s okay with that. So he lies. </p><p>or alternatively;</p><p>There are moments, many moments, where Theo thinks he won't survive, but then he <i>does<i>.</i></i></p><p>(Essentially, snippets from Theo's long, drawn-out road to redemption.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Theo Raeken &amp; The Pack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i know about things i wish i didn't [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>300</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so I genuinely have no idea whether this is gonna work, but I hope you enjoy it :))) </p><p>shoutout to katelin (shutupimnotobsessed), my saving grace in this whole process, who understood next to nothing and still endured my rambling &lt;3 </p><p>feedback is appreciated and welcomed!!! </p><p>(possible tw!!)</p><p>(here, please enjoy the newly edited not yet a corpse because i've been procrastinating all my responsibilities.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hospital is first. </p><p>He’s pulling Liam to his chest and he’s thinking,<em> we’re going to die </em> because he can hear how many hunters are out there, beyond the elevator, and his mind is screaming <em> we’re going to die</em>. </p><p>So his eyes flick down to Liam’s lips, and he lies, staring right at Liam’s mouth, he <em> lies</em>. </p><p>“I’m not dying for you.” </p><p>He’s going to die, and it’s going to be for Liam, and he’s okay with that. So he lies. </p><p>~</p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Theo is in the hospital, his mind reeling, back pressed against the wall of the supply closet, the claw of his index finger digging absently into the open wound on his shoulder. </p><p>He can hear soft whispers, and heavy breathing, and the unmistakable voice of Liam, who hisses, <em>what the fuck?, </em> with a wet laugh and then runs- or at least that’s what it sounds like; his feet pounding against the tiled floor- right into Mason, who yelps, and then the two tumble onto the floor, seemingly followed by Corey, because Theo hears the <em> flop </em> of another body, and a loud <em> oof. </em></p><p>Melissa is laughing too, bright and relieved, pulling out her phone and reflexively dialing someone’s number. <em> Scott’s. </em> His mind supplies, and Theo swallows, glancing at his blood-caked hands. </p><p><em> You’ll meet us here? </em> Melissa asks in a soft whisper, Mason, Corey and Liam are still laughing, and Theo winces, pressing his thumb to his wound, watching as the poison spreads across his skin. The wolfsbane is pungent, stinging his nose. <em>Okay, okay. We’ll see you soon. </em>  </p><p>Theo waits until he hears them enter the elevator- well, Melissa, Mason and Corey enter the elevator, Liam makes a protesting noise and mumbles out a quick <em> I’m just going to take the stairs </em>before bolting down the corridor- then he stumbles out of the closet. </p><p>After, he ducks, crouching, and crawls toward one of the unconscious hunters- <em> they’re the Sheriff’s problem now </em> Melissa stated, sitting their bodies up against the wall, she winked at Liam, and by extension Theo, because he had somehow found his way back to the beta’s side- then grabs one of the guns, and a <em> wallet</em>, tucking both into the waistband of his jeans.</p><p>He stands up, running a hand down his thigh and gulps, an unfamiliar taste coating his tongue. Theo limps forward, clenching his jaw. His shoulder <em>aches </em>and his shirt is in tatters. Everything is silent and suddenly he can hear the faint echo of Tara calling his name. </p><p>Theo leaves the hospital alive.</p><p>The McCall Pack is outside, gathered in between their cars, checking each other over. Stiles pulls Liam into a hug, then Mason, then Corey. Scott does the same. Derek smiles, nodding his head in acknowledgment, then his eyes snap to Theo’s, and Theo <em> freezes</em>. </p><p>Derek doesn’t say anything though. He just watches as Theo stumbles towards his truck, shoulders tense, before turning away. Theo releases a harsh breath.</p><p>He leaves the parking lot too, still alive. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo winds up in a run-down motel on the outskirts of town. </p><p>The walls are thin and he can hear screaming, then crying, and Theo can hear his own whimpers, and the useless begging as he repeats, <em> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry </em> because even after <em> everything </em>, he can't escape. </p><p>He uses the bullets from the gun to treat his wound, allowing the scent of burning of flesh to overpower his senses, holding the lighter- which he had bought in a near-by gas station with the money from the hunter’s wallet- to his skin. </p><p><em> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. </em> </p><p>The unfamiliar taste is back, heavy and sour, clinging to the back of his throat. </p><p>Theo doesn’t stay in the motel long, but he’s still alive. </p><p>~</p><p>The road is long, and winding, and dark as Theo stares out at the wide stretch and guides the truck around a corner, his eyelids heavy and falling shut. Theo doesn't exactly know where he's going. He just drives without thinking, his mind <em> blank</em>. </p><p>Tara is there, settled in the corner of his mind, her smile wide and taunting. She's calling him forwrad, her voice low and lyrical, coaxing him into her trap. But Theo blinks back the tears, and the fear, and swallows down the bitterness of his bile. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo grips onto his truck’s steering wheel, staring out at the empty street.</p><p>It’s early in the morning, <em> really </em> early, as in the sun-isn’t-even-up-yet early and he feels absolutely ridiculous because he’d stopped right across from the McCalls’ front porch about an hour ago, and he still hasn’t <em> moved</em>. </p><p><em> I should leave. </em> He thinks, noting Argent’s car, and Stiles’ jeep, and the beat-up sedan Liam had inherited from his step-dad, and even Mason’s <em> bike </em> parked haphazardly in the driveway. He sits, and he stares, and he wonders how he had managed to stoop so low. <em> I should fucking leave. </em> </p><p>Theo’s eyes flick to the keys in his lap, and he <em> knows </em> he should shove them right back into the ignition and high-tail it out of Beacon Hills. He’s learned how to hide, he’s experienced, he is- <em> was</em>, his mind automatically corrects and Tara’s ice-cold fingers suddenly claw at his chest, nails scratching and then twisting- bred for it after all. Argent, Stiles and the Sheriff wouldn’t be able to find him, even with the FBI involved and the rest wouldn’t even <em> care</em>. He’d be free. </p><p><em> I can’t. </em> He thinks again, and ultimately he knows it’s true. Theo stretches his neck upwards, allowing his head to fall back on the seat, and he blows out a harsh sigh. He has no one else, no other attachments, and somehow they’ve managed to get under his skin. His fingers spasm, then tighten, and he glances back at the McCalls’ house. <em> I really can’t.  </em></p><p>He melts against the seat, residing himself to that fact, but then he hears <em> her</em>.</p><p><em> Theo</em>. Her voice calls, sickeningly sweet and equally as taunting, her footsteps are light but pound in his ears like a bass drum. She’s crawling over his windshield, neck angled unnaturally, hair wet and face stained with dry tears. She opens her eyes, and then her mouth, before she <em> convulses </em>, morphing into a bleeding Josh, who slams a fist against the glass and Theo yelps, shutting his eyes and willing the image away. </p><p><em> They should be alive. </em> </p><p>~</p><p>But they’re <em> not</em>. </p><p>And he <em> is</em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo sleeps in his truck again, like usual, tucked away in the corner of the preserve that the deputies normally elect to ignore. </p><p>But then he wakes up to the familiar <em> tap, tap, tap, </em>and Theo raises a hand to flip Martinez off. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo is gulping down a cup of shitty gas station coffee when he hears about Gabe’s funeral. </p><p>Two lacrosse players- he can tell by the way they are flaunting their jerseys like the sport is their <em> only </em> personality trait- are loudly discussing it as they scan through the energy drinks. </p><p>They’re not going to attend. </p><p>
  <em> Why should we? He’s a killer.  </em>
</p><p>Theo’s shoulders winch tighter. </p><p>
  <em> He’s not our friend, not anymore.  </em>
</p><p>Suddenly, something in Theo’s stomach drops, and he spits his mouthful of coffee back into the paper cup.</p><p>He asks the teenager behind the register for the key to the bathroom, stumbling out the automatic doors, and around to the back, then he doubles over the toilet, and <em> wretches</em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo <em> coughs</em>. </p><p>He’s never been sick. </p><p>But he coughs, and then parks his truck at the side of the road, scrambling out the door, he arches upwards, then drops to his knees, throwing up on the grass. </p><p>Tara’s laugh reverberates around his mind. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo isn’t sure <em> why </em> he decided to attend Gabe’s funeral. </p><p>It’s like a knee-jerk reaction, something he can’t really explain, or <em> justify</em>, but it feels right anyway. </p><p>He hovers at the edge of the cemetery, watching as a generic, black-cloaked priest struggles to address Gabe’s final moments- read; a brainwashed teenager murdered by one of his own as he carried out the wishes of a deranged guidance counsellor- preaching the wonders of forgiveness, voice devoid of <em>any </em>emotion. It’s tense, and awkward, and Gabe’s mother is a desperate, sobbing mess as she clutches onto her husband, who looks completely <em>indifferent</em> as he threads his fingers through her hair. </p><p>The ceremony is quick, and impersonal, making Theo’s muscles coil tighter, and tighter, and <em> tighter</em>. He swallows hard, rolling his shoulders, then exhales roughly. The cold air nips at his nose, flushing his cheeks and Theo drags a hand down his face. </p><p><em> This will be you. </em> His mind supplies, and the thought makes his stomach churn. </p><p>Theo <em>knew</em> that, he knows that. It’s why he’s hiding in the shadows of a near-empty graveyard, watching as the casket of a boy- who died too <em>young</em>, too<em> soon</em> and fighting for the wrong cause- is lowered into the ground. Because one day, that will be <em>him</em>, and he can’t see; he can’t <em>allow</em> another teenager to fade away. </p><p>Theo absently trails a finger along his right forearm, finding a sense of comfort in the feather-like touch. He remembers the veins, swirling and writhing under his skin, protruding in harsh ridges that sat stark and apparent. Clenching his fist, he digs his nails into the heel of his palm, creating four neat half-moon shapes in the flesh. </p><p>
  <em> “Does it hurt anymore?” </em>
</p><p>He catches sight of Nolan, who stiffens, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. They stare at each other, faces blank, and then Nolan looks away, his jaw ticking, and Theo presses his lips together, exhaling harshly out through his nose. Theo half expects Nolan to make a speech, to share a story, to say <em> anything </em> - because Nolan and Gabe had been friends for <em> years </em> , before either of them even knew about the supernatural- but Theo knows that he won’t. Gabe isn’t the person he used to be, and neither is Nolan. Neither is <em> Theo </em> . </p><p>
  <em>  “No.” </em>
</p><p>The sermon ends and Theo books it out of the cemetery as soon as Gabe’s parents turn to speak with Nolan, their voices echoing around his brain in soft whispers. Nolan looks <em> terrified </em> and Theo can’t handle the scent of guilt, not <em> anymore </em>, not when it’s combined with his own. </p><p>Theo doesn’t go home- because he doesn’t exactly have a<em> home </em> , and his truck still smells distinctly of blood and wolfsbane, even <em> days </em> after the hospital- so he opts to make his way into town. </p><p>Theo stumbles along the pavement, tucking his keys into his jacket pocket, head bowed as he chews on the inside of his cheek. Blood rushes to his ears, and his eyes begin to sting, pricking with tears. <em> Not again. </em> He thinks, scrubbing a hand down his face, swallowing down the knot in his throat. <em> Not again. </em> It isn’t a surprise, it’s expected, but his chest still winches tighter and the echoes of Tara’s screams grow louder, and louder, and louder, until Theo forgets what he’s doing and <em> trips </em>.</p><p>~</p><p><em> Tara. Tracy. Josh. Gabe</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He sees them standing there, soaked in blood. <em>Theo's</em> blood, like some sick, twisted nightmare. Which is technically what it <em>is</em>. </p><p>~</p><p>He’s on the ground, and his world shifts, then he’s back in Beacon Hills and the panic disappears. Theo hoists himself up off the ground with shaky arms, watching as his skin nits together, healing the scratches. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply, and then he lets it go in a quick <em> woosh </em>. Running the back of his hand across his cheek, Theo huffs out a humourless laugh. </p><p>He shuts it off- ‘it’ being<em> whatever </em> has taken root in his chest, scratching and clawing like a merciless reminder- and forces his face to lose all emotion. He schools his expression, straightening his back and swallows down the bile in his throat. Then, Theo keeps moving. </p><p>He passes his old elementary school- where he, Scott and Stiles spent years together as friends, <em>best</em> friends- then the run-down clothes store, the one that used to be fresh and new, and had sold Tara her favourite pair of jeans, until he finally slips down a narrow road that he <em>hopes</em> leads to the diner on the outskirts of town. The one he had never got to visit, because his dad said he was too young and unconsciously Theo knew the early-morning pancake trips were always <em>just</em> for Tara. </p><p>~</p><p>Eventually, he arrives outside the diner.</p><p>Theo takes a deep breath, pushing open the door and steps inside. The neon sign overhead buzzes loudly, spelling out <em> Jane’s </em> in large letters. It’s mostly empty- aside from a group of old ladies huddled in the corner, talking amongst themselves- and Theo approaches the counter, smiling at the woman behind the register. </p><p>He orders a coffee, then politely asks her to point him in the direction of their bathroom. She nods, gesturing to the door, mumbling a quick <em> go through there, then take a left </em> before turning towards the kitchen window, shouting an order to the chef inside. </p><p>Theo stumbles into the bathroom, glancing quickly at the mirror before diving into a stall and vomiting, loudly.  His chest heaves, and dark sludge trickles from his lips, staining his skin, and dripping onto the toilet seat, stark against the white ceramic. </p><p>He winces, running the back of his hand along his chin. Theo stares at the substance, ducking his head down to take a sniff and his expression twists. <em> Coffee. </em> He thinks, and then laughs, slumping onto the tiles, pulling his knees to his chest, tired and <em> relieved </em>. </p><p>He leaves the bathroom, and makes his way over to one of the booths, sinking onto the plush leather, head finding his hands almost instantly. The waitress glides over, planting the cup on the table. He looks up, smiling gratefully, mumbling out a soft <em> thanks </em>. </p><p><em> I shouldn’t drink this. </em> He thinks next, remembering the cool edge of the toilet pressed against his skin. But he does, then he orders another, and another, and <em> another </em> . He wraps a hand around the ceramic mug and the waitress offers him a tight lipped smile, <em> reeking </em> of concern- because Theo fails to mention that his perverted supernaturally enhanced metabolism burns <em> right </em> through caffeine- and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. </p><p>“Do you need anything else?” She asks, slipping a pen into the bundle of hair atop her head. The waitress tosses a towel over her shoulder, eyes crinkling at the corners. Littered with stains, her apron ruffles as she moves, and her cheeks are dusted with flour. She looks older than most of the adults Theo knows and her gap-tooth grin is strangely comforting. </p><p>“No, I’m fine,” Theo says, eyebrow twitching. Then, he adds.  “Thank you.” </p><p>She nods slowly, tucking her notepad into the waistband of her apron, then shuffles back to the counter, tossing a glance back over her shoulder, mouth turned down into a frown. Theo gulps down the coffee, then stares over the rim and into the cup. </p><p>Suddenly, his chest tightens, and Theo thinks <em> oh shit </em> , until his vision flickers, and he <em> know </em> s he’s in the diner, but for a second, it feels like he’s back down there, with <em> her </em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>His mind screams, and Tara is there, fingers clawing at his chest, at the ground, at everything and she’s smiling, and laughing, pulling at his flesh. </p><p>Josh is next, blood dripping from his mouth, using an elongated claw to tear out Theo’s trachea like it’s <em> nothing </em>. Smiling as Theo drops, motionless. </p><p>Then Tracy- whose lips are soft and comforting as they kiss- punches a hand through his ribcage, wrapping her fingers around his heart and he can’t make a sound, because they’re still kissing and she’s swallowing the cry. </p><p>Finally it’s Gabe, and Theo didn’t even <em> kill </em> him, but he’s still there, still laughing, gun pointed right into the back of Theo’s skull and Theo is on the ground, hands raised in surrender, begging Gabe to just <em> shoot </em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>He jolts awake, and scrambles, flushing under the heat of the waitress’ stare, because she heard him scream, and now she has a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and the smell of concern is back, as well as some confusion- because how could he have fallen asleep? There’s enough caffeine in his veins to power a large vehicle- and Theo wants to laugh, and then, maybe, <em> cry </em>. </p><p>He jumps up, rolling his shoulders, knocking her hand off, and pulls out the wallet. He rifles through it, retrieving a handful of bills, and shoves them into her hand. She stares, fingers curling, then moves to hand him back his change. Neither speak, and Theo absently notices that the old ladies have left. He waves a hand in the air dismissively. </p><p>“Sorry-” She mumbles, face scrunching, scent sour. He shrugs, stretching upwards until he hears his spin <em> pop </em>. She gestures to the window, and outside. “-we’re closing now.” </p><p>He stares, a little dumbly, following her arm, eyebrows furrowing. He thinks he sees a shadow in the distance. <em>Tara</em>. He swallows again, eyes flicking back to the waitress. <em>Josh. </em>He nods slowly. <em>Tracey.</em> Theo glances back out the window, then presses his lips together. <em>They’re not here.</em> </p><p>“Oh-” He flushes. Then, he repeats “-thank you.” </p><p>He’s out the door and walking back to his truck before she can even blink, keys looped around his index finger. Theo tugs his phone out of his back pocket. Not a single message. He smiles wryly. His hand spasms, and he presses his thumb to the home button, opening it up. He clicks on the contacts icon, continuing forward, head ducking down, and scrolls until he finds<em> Scott McCall </em>. Then he pauses. </p><p>Theo shakes his head, hitting the power button, and keeps moving. </p><p>~ </p><p>The gun is pressed to the back of his skull and Theo <em>smiles</em>. </p><p>Argent's scent is ashy, cautious, but his hand is steady, just like his heart. Theo waits, palms pressed to the window of his truck, head bowed, mouth dry. </p><p>He waits, and he thinks,<em> just shoot</em>, fingers arching and digging into the glass. </p><p>Argent must have been tracking him, not that the task is particularly difficult or time-consuming, Beacon Hills is a small town, and Theo <em>isn’t </em>hiding. </p><p>“What were you doing outside Scott’s?” Argent demands and Theo winces, squeezing his eyes shut. </p><p><em> Oh fuck. </em>He thinks next, but doesn’t say a word. </p><p>Argent grunts, and the gun moves, dropping to his side. He grabs Theo’s shoulder, pulling him back, then flips him around, pinning him against the truck, looking <em>right </em>into the chimera’s eyes. </p><p>“You live in your truck.” Is the next thing out of Argent’s mouth, and Theo blinks. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>It’s silent, and Argent sighs. </p><p>“Stay around.” He says, tucking the gun back in his holster. Then, he steps back and turns to walk away. </p><p>Theo watches him leave. </p><p>~ </p><p>It’s been two weeks since the hospital and Theo’s still <em>alive</em>. Even if he's not exactly sure why. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. mason</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You’re alive,” Mason states, staring, fingers curling in the hospital bed’s starch-white sheets. He’s not looking at Theo anymore, his face turned to his right, staring at the wall, jaw clenching. </p><p>Theo nods, stepping into the room, watching Mason warily, waiting for some kind of protest. Mason doesn’t say a word. “So are you.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i literally loved writing this so much. </p><p>anyways, all feedback is appreciated, so please tell me what you think!!!</p><p>also, i'm not sure if any of you have noticed, but i took down the we just kind of ended series (parallel lines, run side by side and but will they meet?) because they needed some serious editing, but thank you guys for the support on those fics!!! </p><p>(potential tw, read; obligatory kidnapping scene)</p><p>(newly edited)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mason is next. </p><p>Maybe it’s unorthodox to refer to a moment with a name; <em> someone’s </em> name. </p><p>But Theo’s running, Mason’s arm hooked over his shoulder, and his mind is screaming, <em>we’re going to die, </em>as soon as he hears the hunter cock her gun. </p><p>A mission gone wrong, one Theo <em> knew </em> was a trap. They didn’t listen, and now Theo is running- the rest of the pack outside waiting, oblivious- because the bastard hunters had shot at a <em> human</em>. </p><p>He’s siphoning pain, the black lines protruding against his skin and his stomach twists- <em>Gabe</em>, his mind screams and Theo can hear the laughter, <em> Tara</em>- before he’s shaking his head, and picking up the pace. </p><p>The scent of blood- <em>Mason's</em> blood- fills his nose, and Theo swallows down a pained cry as a bullet pierces his calf, then his shoulder, then his back, then his neck. They’re poisoned, and he’s thinking, <em>we’re going to die.</em> </p><p>Theo is running, and he scoops Mason into his arms. He’s out of the warehouse- an old Argent warehouse, one Monroe had rigged for her game- and searching the parking lot for Stiles’ jeep, or Argent’s car, really <em> anything </em> that can take Mason to the hospital. Up ahead, he sees the air ripple, <em> Corey</em>, he thinks, and smiles. </p><p>Theo stops, throwing Mason in the direction of the other chimera, waiting until they both disappear from view. His chest is heaving, breath rattling as blood begins to clog his lungs, and he turns, running right back into the warehouse. He ignores the McCall Pack’s indignant cries of protest- because they need time to escape, and time to get Mason medical attention, because he doesn’t heal, not like the rest of them- facing the hunters, then snarls, loud and threatening. </p><p>Now, Corey’s running, Mason gathered in his arms, and Theo is facing down an army of hunters alone, ready and <em> waiting </em>. </p><p><em> I’m going to die. </em>He thinks, and then he launches himself forward. </p><p>~</p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Theo’s tied to a metal fence, soaked to the bone and cackling loudly, because these hunters are <em> amateurs</em>- their torture methods leaving much to be desired- and Theo has <em> literally </em> been to hell, so the whole situation is less terrifying and more downright hilarious. </p><p>“Stop laughing-” She hisses, seemingly offended, and dials up the electricity. Her goons- two buff-looking men covered in leather- toss another bucket of ice-cold water over Theo’s head, and then one- who has a scar that trails right across the length of his face diagonally,<em> a claw mark</em>- presses the tip of a knife to Theo’s throat. “-you stupid <em> mutt </em>.” </p><p>Theo thrust his head back, grin wide, and tugs on his bonds, muscles flexing. The electricity courses through his veins, and the wolfsbane burns through his flesh, the scent sour and <em> rotten</em>. He lets his neck go limp, allowing his head to flop to the side, the blade piercing his skin and drawing blood. </p><p>Theo’s smile widens, and his eyes flutter shut, before opening again. He whimpers, tongue pressing against his cheek, and flicks his gaze down to the knife, then the hunter’s mouth, before looking up. He stares <em> right </em>into the hunter’s eyes, expression purposely going slack and starry, before he pushes into the feeling of the cold metal and gasps out “Do it again.” </p><p>The hunter jumps back with a surprised shriek, and Theo <em> howls </em> with laughter, the metal fence shaking. Tears well in his eyes, from the scent of his own rotting flesh, and the pain, and the amusement, so he ducks his head down, chest heaving, the giggles incessant and <em> manic</em>. </p><p>“Murphy-” The woman growls, slamming a hand against her goon’s chest. He drops the knife, his eyes still wide, looking everywhere but at <em> Theo</em>. “-get it together.” </p><p>“Did you not see that?” Murphy whines like a petulant child, gesturing at Theo, before crouching down to pick up the knife. “He was <em> into </em> that.” He mumbles, sitting the blade into the palm of his hand. “God, I <em> hate </em> werewolves.” </p><p>“Not a werewolf,” Theo sing-songs, rattling his bonds, feet kicking absently. His smile is still wide and hopelessly amused. </p><p>“Sadistic fuck,” The other goon mutters, capturing Theo’s attention. Murphy nods in agreement, hand flailing pointedly, and the woman rolls her eyes. </p><p>Theo rakes his eyes over the other lackey’s appearance, then snaps his human teeth. “Alright, <em> pot</em>.” </p><p>“<em>Look</em>-” The woman starts, elbowing both her goons in the stomach, sauntering forward, <em> reeking </em> of confidence. She reaches up a hand to cup Theo’s face, her smile is soft but her eyes are hard and dangerous, she tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, then trails her fingertips along his jaw. “-you tell us where McCall is, and we’ll let you go.”</p><p>Theo spits <em> right </em> into her mouth. </p><p>Murphy sniggers. </p><p>Her hand moves to grip in his hair, and she <em> tugs</em>, dragging his head down, and she knees him in the face. Her expression spasms, gathering saliva, then twists, hocking it across the room, before she grins, showcasing her yellowed teeth, and tuts. </p><p>“Now, now, Theo. That’s no way to act around a lady.” </p><p>“Murphy-” Theo drawls, eyes flashing, his muscles going slack, because the wolfsbane is still moving its way through his system, and his blood feels hot. He nods his head at the other hunter, who stands several feet away, his shoulders tense. “-is over there.” </p><p>It’s the other goon’s turn to laugh. </p><p>“So loyal-” She hums, ignoring his snark. The woman releases his hair, hand moving to tip his chin upwards, she ducks her head, breath ghosting his lips. “-so <em> stupid</em>.” </p><p>His face contorts, fangs elongating, ready to <em> bite</em>, but she steps back. </p><p>“They’re not coming for you,” She states, turning on her heel, glancing between her two lackeys, before she looks right back at Theo, the smile dropped, her pleasantries- if anyone could even call them that- forgotten. </p><p>Theo doesn’t flinch. He just <em> grins</em>. “I know.” </p><p>“They’re at the hospital right now-” She continues, picking at her nails. “-with that human, the one you <em> saved</em>.” </p><p>“I don’t think he’s doing well-” She adds, and she flicks her eyes up to meet Theo’s gaze. “-maybe that bullet was just <em> too </em> much.” </p><p>“He’s not even a wolf-” She’s not holding a knife, neither are her friends, but Theo can feel <em> something </em> stab his gut, twisting and tearing, leaving him raw and <em> open</em>. “-but he’s pack, and they’re so worried, absolutely distraught.” </p><p>“A <em> human </em>-” Her voice is silky smooth, and taunting. “-is pack, but you <em> aren’t</em>.” </p><p>She looks up again, satisfied, eyes scanning his face. Theo doesn’t say a word. “Are you?” </p><p>“You know-” She clicks her fingers together, not waiting for an answer, humming a soft tune. “-you’d make a good ally.” </p><p>She’s talking to herself, dancing around the warehouse, a sharp twist to her lips. “We <em> all </em> know your story.” </p><p>“Do you now?” Theo drawls, head cocking to the side, tone <em> laced </em> with scepticism. </p><p>The woman doesn’t answer. </p><p>“Never trust a lone wolf-” She sings instead, hair bouncing against her back. Theo watches, jaw clenched but remains quiet, he <em> knows </em> he’s losing the fight. She wraps her arms around each of her goons’ shoulders, then looks Theo <em> dead </em> in the eye. “-you know what they did to survive.” </p><p>The tune is soft, like a nursery rhyme, or a lullaby, and she’s grinning, squeezing at her friends’ biceps. “Never trust a lone wolf.” </p><p>Her voice is mocking, cruel. She bares her human teeth, releasing her men, then strikes at the air, fingers arching to represent claws, before she runs one along her neck, and <em> laughs </em>. “You know what they did to survive.” </p><p>The men repeat her action, laughing loudly and Theo shudders- because all he can see is a lifeless Josh and the blood on his hands- which makes the woman <em> cackle</em>. </p><p>Theo’s falters, eyes flashing, before the shift fades, the wolfsbane overriding his system, and he hangs, dangling above the ground, waiting. </p><p>Theo thinks, <em> if they don’t come, I’m going to die. </em></p><p>So he’s waiting, and he’s hoping, staring right at the woman as she taunts, and laughs. He can practically taste the electricity flowing through his veins. </p><p>He’s <em> waiting</em>, and he’s <em> hoping</em>. </p><p>
  <em> If they don’t come, I’m going to die. </em>
</p><p>~</p><p>They don’t come. </p><p>Three days later, and they don’t come. </p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>~</p><p>Theo dislocates his thumb to trigger his healing, </p><p>Then he <em> waits</em>. </p><p>~</p><p>The chains snap and Theo’s flopping forward, landing in a heap on the cold, wet ground, the hunters staring down at him with wide eyes, <em> frozen </em>. </p><p>He rises slowly, fangs bared. </p><p>Theo <em> roars</em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo finds his truck exactly where he had left it. </p><p>The preserve is quiet and Theo approaches the truck quickly, foregoing caution. He drops down onto his haunches, pulling the key out from under one of the front wheels. Then slumps forward, resting the curve of his nose and the ridge of his forehead against the cool metal. </p><p>He rolls, turning until the back of his head collides against the truck’s door with a muted <em> thump</em>. Theo squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling sharply, before he rolls his wrist, opening his eyes to glance down at his mangled hand. </p><p>He uses the other to pop the bones back into place, blankly watching as they realign, the pit in his stomach growing larger, and larger, and <em> larger</em>. </p><p>Then, Theo dives to the side and <em> vomits</em>. </p><p>The hunters are laughing. </p><p>Josh, Tracey and Tara are <em> laughing</em>. </p><p>Theo wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, muscles aching. He pushes himself up, standing straight, then opens the truck’s door, sliding in the driver’s seat. Theo stares out the windshield, newly healed hand wrapping tight around the steering wheel. He catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror. </p><p>Suddenly, Theo’s laughing too. </p><p>~</p><p>Theo’s driving, there’s the phantom feeling of cool metal cuffs wrapped around his wrist- there’s also the screams of the hunters as he slashes, and snarls, breaking bones but not killing because he can’t do it anymore; he <em> won’t </em> do it anymore- and he swallows down the bile; ignoring the burn, and keeps driving. </p><p>He takes a left at the old mill, right down a narrow road, before he cuts across the baseball field’s parking lot- a familiar route, one his parents had used, over, and over, and <em> over </em> again, because he was a sick kid, and if things went wrong, they needed to get to help fast- and pulls up at the hospital. </p><p>It’s late in the evening and Beacon Hills Memorial is as busy as ever- buzzing with energy, a hive of activity, as doctors run around, tending to patients and nurses shout out orders to porters as they wheel people around the halls and into the elevator at a lightning speed- and it’s easy; almost <em> too </em> easy, for Theo to slip in through the doors and approach the front desk. </p><p>He smiles, pushing his shoulders back, and cocks out a hip, leaning forward so that he braces his elbows on the counter. Theo tilts his head, eyes crinkling, and he waits for the receptionist to look up. When she <em> does</em>, his grin widens- becoming almost dazzling, completely distracting- and she blinks, turning away from her computer to give him her full attention. </p><p>“Hey-” He drawls, ducking his head down, he scratches at the back of his neck and winces awkwardly, hoping to appear sheepish. “-my friend was brought in here a few days ago, and I haven’t been able to visit, could you tell me where his room is?” </p><p>“Name?” It’s the only question she asks, because he seems so <em> sincere</em>. </p><p>“Mason Hewitt,” His voice cracks slightly, and Theo grimaces. The receptionist however, doesn’t notice, too occupied with typing Mason’s name into her computer, her fingers tapping away on the keyboard. </p><p>“Oh-” She pauses, eyes widening, and furtively glances back at Theo. Then, she furrows her brow, and ducks her own head, whispering out a quiet “-he’s on the third floor, room six-” She presses her lips together. “-go through the first door you see, then take a left.” </p><p>She’s watching him, and Theo wants to squirm. Instead, he smiles again, grateful, and turns on his heel, sauntering towards the elevator.</p><p>His stomach twists, and he wrinkles his nose, the scent of antiseptic filling his lungs, and the ground shifts beneath his feet, then he hears Tara calling his name and the feeling of  her hand around his heart, before he’s back in the elever, a hand splayed against the wall, keeping him steady.  </p><p>
  <em> “I’m not dying for you.”  </em>
</p><p>He huffs out a humourless laugh and thinks, <em> I hate hospitals</em>, then the elevator dings, and is opening up onto a wide corridor. </p><p>
  <em> “But, I will fight with you.”  </em>
</p><p>Theo stretches out his hearing, pushing at the first door he sees, then pauses, and listens, because he can hear more than one heartbeat. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Corey is asking, voice bordering on frantic, and the sigh that he earns from Mason is exasperated, indicating that he’s probably asked the very same question <em> multiple </em> times. There’s the sound of bedsheets moving, and it seems that Mason is tugging Corey closer, then it goes silent, and Theo wrinkles his nose, because he can smell the love; the <em> lust </em>. </p><p>“I’m <em> fine</em>,” Mason whispers, his voice <em> hopelessly </em> soft. “Seriously, I’m fine.” </p><p>There’s a scoff and Theo’s heart skips. <em> Liam</em>, he thinks, and then he’s edging closer to the doorway, pressing himself against the wall, feet scuffing along the tiled floor. </p><p>“You got <em> shot</em>,” Liam hisses, and then there’s a <em> wack </em> , which means someone has hit- albeit affectionately- the other, and Theo holds back an amused snort. There’s a yelp, and then more bedsheets shifting, and Liam’s grumbling fills the room. “You are not <em> fine </em>.”  </p><p>“I’m <em> alive </em>-” Mason stretches, then his voice drops an octave, and Theo can hear his elbow cracking softly, meaning that he’s reaching out, probably to grab Liam’s hand. “-I’m alive, Liam.” </p><p>~</p><p><em> We’re going to die</em>, Theo had thought, but Mason’s alive.</p><p><em> I’m going to die</em>, Theo had thought, but Theo’s alive too. </p><p>~</p><p><em> “You can’t take pain if you don’t care.” </em> </p><p>Theo had wanted to scream <em> I care, I care, I care, </em> over, and over, and over again, until Mason understood, because- despite concrete evidence, and the constant doubt- Theo cares, even when he really wishes he <em> didn’t</em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo slips into the back stairwell and <em> waits</em>, watching from the window as Corey and Liam stumble out of the building and towards Stiles’ jeep, walking right past Theo’s truck without so much as a glance of recognition. </p><p>He’s slumped down onto the stairs, knees pulled to his chest, and his head is angled down awkwardly because he’s shoved up against the banister. Theo wraps his hands around his ankles, and then squeezes, his claws elongating to prick at his skin- he’s alone, and he’s hiding, and he can hear Tara laughing, because she’s also alone, but she’s <em> searching </em>- before he pulls them away and props himself up, moving to stand. </p><p>He heads back to Mason’s room, muscles coiling in preparation, rounding the corner and knocking softly at the door. Theo hears Mason’s heartbeat stutter, clearly confused, but he still calls out a gentle <em> come in </em>. </p><p>He lightly kicks open the door with his foot, arms remaining firmly crossed over his chest- a shield, <em> protection </em> - and he leans against the doorframe, eyebrow raised, expression spasming- running through his catalogue of reactions, preparing and thinking, calling on his training, the frequency in the room changing and he can hear the <em> tap, tap, tap, </em> of Tara, of the Dread Doctors, of the Deputies, and he <em> panics</em>- before settling on mildly bored.  </p><p>Theo looms in the doorway, and Mason <em> freezes</em>. </p><p>“Theo-” He says, eyes wide, voice breathless, his chemosignals a mess. Mason is propping himself up on the mattress, hands sliding, as he flops down, before scrambling back up again. He flounders, mouth opening, then closing, his mind racing a mile a minute and Theo can’t even begin to pick apart the mess of emotions; not that he wants to, not <em> anymore </em> . “- <em> Theo</em>.” </p><p>“Hey.” Theo’s voice unintentionally cracks, and for a brief adrenaline filled second- where he’s thinking <em> oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, </em> and he feels the moisture build up behind his eyes because he genuinely has no idea how to handle anything anymore, and that in itself make him want to shift, then retreat to the woods and curl up in some random cave, never to be heard from again- he almost lets the mask slip. </p><p>“You’re alive,” Mason states, staring, fingers curling in the hospital bed’s starch-white sheets. He’s not looking at Theo anymore, his face turned to his right, staring at the wall, jaw clenching. </p><p>Theo nods, stepping into the room, watching Mason warily, waiting for some kind of protest. Mason doesn’t say a word. “So are you.” </p><p>Slowly, Theo approaches the chair beside Mason’s bed, glancing at Mason, asking for silent permission, Mason just shrugs, and Theo takes it as an invitation to sit down. </p><p>They’re silent for a long time. </p><p>“You know-” Mason pauses, then winces, swallowing down <em> something </em>, before continuing. A nurse passes the rooms pushing a metal cart, the wheels rattling as she, and it, moves forward. “-they’re out looking for you.” </p><p>Theo hums non-committedly, eyes trained on the ground. <em> Yeah, right. </em></p><p>“They <em> are </em> -” Mason insists, and he sounds desperate, frantic even, and Theo’s eyes furrow, but he doesn’t look up. “-<em>seriously </em> Theo, we weren’t just going to leave you there.” </p><p>Theo hesitates, then: </p><p>“I know,” He lies, lifting his head up, meeting Mason’s eyes. He doesn’t know, because they didn’t come, he was there for <em> days</em>, and they didn’t come. He repeats. “I know.” </p><p>Mason’s shaking his head, and his arms are flailing, like he’s trying to make a point. “You don’t <em> know</em>, you can’t <em> know</em>. Because-” </p><p>Mason stops, and his expression crumbles. He drops his head back, flopping down onto his pillow, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes, and he groans, loud and frustrated. </p><p>
  <em> “And it doesn’t matter who forgets, I won’t.”  </em>
</p><p>Then, he sits up, and Theo blinks, surprised, edging back in his seat, away from Mason’s bed, and his shoulders winch tighter. Mason looks directly into Theo’s eyes, then slowly, deliberately, he turns around, showing his back, head ducked down, and Theo’s mind goes <em> blank</em>. </p><p>
  <em> “I’m way more terrified of turning my back on you.”  </em>
</p><p>“We were looking, Theo,” Mason says, voice resolute. Theo’s still staring at his back, eyes tracing the line of his shoulders- his instincts flare, and his mind is screaming, but not because of Tara, or Josh, or Tracy, or <em> anyone</em>, it’s screaming because he’s staring at Mason’s back; because Mason is <em> allowing </em> Theo to stare at his back- and he thinks, <em> he’s telling the truth</em>.</p><p>Then, Mason adds “We <em> are </em> still looking, Theo.” </p><p>He reaches for his phone, which is located on the bedside table- next to a copy of some classic literature novel that Theo recognises, but has never read himself, and a card, stating <em> Get Well Soon! </em>in large, loopy letters- but then winces, grunting, his other hand moving to cup his side, where the bullet had pierced his skin. </p><p>Instantly, Theo’s own hand shoots out, wrapping around Mason’s wrist, and he’s draining the pain, looking anywhere but at Mason, swallowing hard. </p><p>Mason doesn’t say a word; doesn’t <em> need </em> to, because they are both thinking of the same thing. </p><p>
  <em> “You can’t take pain if you don’t care.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ~ </em>
</p><p>Theo finds Liam sitting in the bed of his truck, staring up at the stars. </p><p>“You’re alive,” He says, knees pulled to his chest, waving his unlocked phone in the air, eyebrows raised. </p><p>Theo nods, bracing his elbows on the truck’s side, glancing at Liam, eyes trailing the beta’s side profile, before he looks away, his chest tightening. “I am.” </p><p>Liam clenches his jaw, then turns, eyes searching Theo’s face for a moment, before his expression spasms, and he swallows, throat constricting. </p><p>They hold eye contact for a while, then: </p><p>“Good,” Liam states, his voice hard, but then he’s smiling, head ducked down, and Theo’s smiling too. </p><p>“Yeah-” Theo agrees, and he <em> means </em> it. “-yeah, good.”</p><p>~ </p><p>Theo’s sitting in the bed of his truck, looking up at the stars, Liam by his side, and he’s still <em> alive</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i honestly hope you guys enjoyed because i absolutely loved writing this :)</p><p>again, all feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the preserve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Theo squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders tensing. He’s sitting, his breath stuttering, and he’s seconds away from kicking Liam out of his truck. “Are you going to go inside?” </p><p>Liam taps a finger against his knee, he raises an eyebrow, turning his head, tilting it to the side. “Are you?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is going to be longer than anticipated, but anyways... </p><p>most of this is just exceptionally awkward dialogue, so enjoy :) </p><p>please give me so feedback!!! all the comments and kudos have been greatly appreciated &lt;333</p><p>(newly edited)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Mason, it’s the preserve. </p><p>Theo’s truck is tucked under a thick canopy of leaves, parked in the middle of an empty clearing just behind the Hale House, it’s frame still riddled with bullet holes, and Theo’s belongings are shoved underneath the backseat, read; a pillow, a threadbare blanket, some clothes, a first aid kit, toiletries, and whatever money he’s managed to swipe from passing strangers is wedged underneath a book- <em> Mason’s </em> book, the one from the hospital- in the glove compartment.</p><p>Theo is leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, back pressed against the rough bark, slumping down slowly, his knees buckling, and he presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart, wincing at the sticky feeling of blood against his skin. </p><p><em> Huh</em>, he thinks, staring at his hand, and then, he smiles, <em> blood</em>. </p><p>The metallic scent hits his nose in a quick and nauseating burst, suddenly, Theo’s doubling over, throwing up onto the grass, chest heaving, because<em> shit, that’s my blood.  </em></p><p><em> Theo</em>, someone calls- and he’s thinking <em> oh no, oh no, oh no, </em> because their voice is sweet, and angelic, and deadly, and their hands are delving into his wound, wrapping around his heart, before tugging- and he stumbles to his feet. </p><p>He’s dazed and frantic, head heavy on his neck, lolling to the side, and his vision blurs. Theo wipes at his mouth, and his tongue, trying to rid the taste of bile, but replacing it with blood, <em> his </em> blood. </p><p><em> That’s my blood</em>, he thinks again, hands shaking, <em> my blood, my blood, my blood.  </em></p><p>His mind is clogged, focused solely on the blood, and he’s confused, because he <em> knows </em> blood, he’s studied blood, he’s seen his own blood, he’s seen others bleed; he’s caused people to <em> bleed</em>. Yet he’s so distracted, so irrevocably affected, and he’s wondering, <em> how did this happen? </em>because the wound is burning, hot to touch, and he’s alone, in the middle of the preserve, with his chest torn open.  </p><p>“Hunters,” he says, voice resolute, because that’s the logical conclusion, the only plausible explanation, but he can’t be sure, even if he sounds it, because his head is filled with white noise, crackling and pulsing, and everything is hazy- he can see Josh stumbling backwards, can see Tracey choking, head pounding, heart racing- because there’s so much <em> blood</em>. </p><p><em> I’m going to die</em>, he thinks, and realistically, Theo knows he should start moving, heading back to his truck, because the wound is tinged with something, poignant and rotten, but he’s tired- of hunters, of the deputies, of Tracey, of Josh, of the nameless faces that he hadn’t even thought about until returning from hell, and of Tara- of really, <em> everything</em>, so he flops down onto the grass, and he stays there, for a while. </p><p>~ </p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Theo’s pulling himself into his truck, rifling for the first aid kit, and he’s panicking, because it’s <em> empty</em>, and he’s bleeding, but the box is <em> empty</em>. </p><p>He curses, loud and obscene, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, and the tears are running down his face, because <em> you’ve got to be kidding me</em>, and then he’s laughing, head ducking down to stare at the box in his lap. </p><p>Suddenly, he kicks open the driver’s door, picks up the box, and throws it outside. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo slams into Beacon Hills’ animal clinic, exhausted and bleeding. He’s frantic, and dazed, and lost, stumbling over his own two feet, hand pressed to his side, right over the wound, keeping the pressure, and he thinks, <em>fuck, maybe I am going to die.  </em></p><p>The woman in the waiting room blinks, reaching down to clutch at her dog’s fur, seeking comfort, clearly surprised, and Theo winces apologetically, but can’t find the strength to open his mouth and explain, because he’s too <em> desperate</em>, so Theo keeps moving, rounding the receptionist’s desk, and <em> barrels </em> into the back room. </p><p>Theo stumbles across the tiled floor, one first clenched tight, his nails are digging into the flesh of his palm, creating for neat half-moon shapes and the other hand is encompassing the wound, holding, feeling, pressing.</p><p>Everything about the situation- read; the blood, the examination table, the rattle of the radiator that sounds a little too much like the Surgeon and the hauntingly painful feeling of helplessness that rests on his chest like an immovable weight- is calling for Tara to appear, waiting for her to crawl, to destroy, to wrap her hands around Theo’s heart until he’s whispering <em> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  </em></p><p>He can smell Liam before he sees him- the beta took over Scott’s position as Deaton’s main volunteer, spending his weekends at the clinic, feeding the animals, hauling around supplies, and learning everything he can about the supernatural- but keeps moving, because there’s <em> blood </em> and Theo really can’t think past that revelation, or the sound of his own heart. </p><p>Liam <em> yelps </em> in surprise, the muscles in his arms constricting, tightening around the bag of dog food clutched to his chest, he stares, eyes flicking to Theo, then away, then back again, and he’s pressing his lips together, puffing out his cheeks and his eyebrows furrow, confused and calculating.</p><p>“Theo?” He’s hoisting the dog food up over his shoulder, walking across the room, back turned to Theo as he crouches, planting the bag on the ground, propping up against the wall, and then he’s turning on his heel, nostrils flaring, because he can smell the <em> blood</em>, and he’s repeating, a little more seriously, a little more <em> urgently</em>. “ <em> Theo</em>?” </p><p>Suddenly, Liam’s scrambling forward, a hand wrapped around Theo’s bicep, tugging the chimera towards the examination table, muttering something to himself; something Theo is too <em> tired </em> to try and figure out. He pushes Theo down onto the metal table, Theo’s back digging into the cool edge, then he’s hooking his fingers in the hem of Theo’s shirt. </p><p>“What the-” Liam’s voice is strained, tumbling out of his mouth in a quick, and ill-timed rush. He tugs Theo’s shirt up over the chimera’s head, fingertips brushing over the wound, and he is hissing, hand retreating like it’s been burned. “-<em>fuck</em>.” </p><p>“Hunters,” Theo croaks, bracing his elbows against the examination table, propping himself up, then he’s ducking out of Liam’s grip, away from Liam’s warm hands, and he’s scrambling a little, scooting further, thinking<em> , this was a bad idea </em> , because he came to sneak some wolfsbane, maybe some mistletoe, just in case, to both stabilize and cauterise the wound, he wasn’t; <em> isn’t </em>at the animal clinic to earn sympathy, to expose weakness. </p><p>He’s a lone wolf on a claimed territory; a <em> True Alpha’s </em> territory- the Doctors pumped decades of supernatural politics into his brain, so he’d be ready and waiting for an opportunity to infiltrate and attack, he’d been training for years, and still managed to fail, <em> failure </em> , they’re hissing, and he’s running, because he’s a failure and failures don’t survive, they <em> never </em> survive- and letting his guard down, opening any kind of door, will get him killed. </p><p>Theo may help the McCall pack out on missions- he wants to, of course, but he’s also indebted, stuck and attached, sometimes, he feels like a weapon, dragged from the ground to fight, and fight alone, but then, he thinks, <em> I’ve always been a weapon</em>, and the bitter taste is back, clinging to the inside of his throat- and maybe, rarely, attends strategy meetings hosted at Scott’s, whenever Mason decides to extend the invitation, cornering him on fifth street, because <em> somehow </em> , he’s figured out Theo spends his time at the library and Theo can’t really bring himself to stop hanging out there; but he’s not <em> pack </em>, he’ll never be pack and everyone, including Monroe herself, knows that. </p><p>“Hunters,” Liam repeats, and he’s stepping back from the examination table, from Theo, hand reaching into his back pocket, fingers wrapping around his phone, and he’s turning it on, scrolling across the screen, and suddenly Theo’s mind shoots into overdrive, and he’s knocking it out of Liam’s grasp, watching as it tumbles to the floor, and Liam <em> squawks</em>. </p><p>“<em>Theo</em>-” Liam’s angry now, his scent flaring, going hot, staticy, overwhelming the smell of blood, and Theo shuffles down the examination table, hand slipping off the corner awkwardly, his other moving to his bare torso; to the wound, and Liam’s eyes flick down, then he’s exhaling heavily. “-I have to tell Scott.” </p><p>“No,” Theo snaps, petulant and stubborn, his throat constricting, and he’s struggling to swallow; struggling to breath. “You can’t tell Scott.”</p><p>Liam looks so lost, so confused, and his scent isn’t hot anymore. “Why?” </p><p>“Because-” Theo pauses, and he’s thinking, <em> why? </em> Then, his lips quirk, and he starts again. “-because, he’s the <em> alpha</em>, and I’m-”</p><p>“You’re what?” Liam presses, his eyebrow raised. </p><p>“-I’m <em> Theo</em>.” He says, jaw twitching, voice stiff. </p><p>Theo Raeken, the boy who has literally been to hell and back, the murderer, the monster, whatever label fits whichever situation. He’s Theo, and that should be enough for Liam to understand, because that’s <em> all </em> Theo can understand; all he can think about. </p><p>“You’re Theo,” Liam deadpans, unimpressed. </p><p>“Yes!” Theo cries, stretching a hand out pointedly, and maybe he’s a little hysterical, but he’s literally bleeding out, and they’re arguing, and he’s tired, so if he makes zero sense, that’s not on <em> him </em>. Liam’s shoulders winch tighter, and Theo’s vision swims, then he’s slipping on the metal, because he still hasn’t treated the wound. </p><p>“Right-” Liam says, and then he’s moving towards one of the cabinets, rifling through the shelves, pulling out vials, his back to Theo again, and Theo stares, reminded of Mason, unsteady and injured, deliberately trusting him to watch his back, but Liam does it <em> blindly </em>, unintentionally, like he doesn’t even have to think, and Theo’s brain short-circuits. “-okay.” </p><p>Liam moves then, stepping around a discarded dog bowl, picking up bandages, and scissors, and a scalpel off the counter, he walks to the sink in the corner, filling up a dish with water, before he’s back at Theo’s side, gently wiping across the raised flesh with a wet cloth, disinfecting the wound. </p><p>Theo jolts, reflexively batting at Liam’s hand, pushing the beta away. He says, “I’ll do it.” </p><p>Liam’s expression flickers, and then he’s huffing, rolling back onto the balls of his feet, standing up. He steps back, hands raised in surrender. Liam presses his lips together.  “Okay- <em> okay</em>, you do it.” </p><p>~</p><p>“So, hunters?” </p><p>Liam kicks himself off the wall, uncrossing his arms, feet scuffing against the tiles, he stretches upwards, neck straining, then smiles, a little sheepish. They’re still in the animal clinic, Liam busying himself with whatever task Deaton had left uncompleted while Theo carefully cleans his wound. </p><p>“Yeah-” Theo doesn’t look up, running a hand over his healing flesh, fingers spasming. “-yeah, hunters.” </p><p>“In the preserve?” </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, in the preserve.” </p><p> “Okay.” Liam rolls his tongue, absently pressing it to the inside of his cheek. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, knees cracking, then tensing, and he bounces in his spot, uneasy. “Cool.” </p><p>Theo nods slowly, eyebrow raising. Then, replies, rather exasperated “Okay, cool.” </p><p> ~</p><p>“You should show me.” </p><p>Theo tosses his head back, bringing both of his hands to his face, pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes, and he’s laughing, incredulous, flopping back boneless on the examination table, feet kicking upwards, legs crossing over themselves. “<em> What </em> ?”</p><p>“I mean-” Liam says, rounding the table, hovering at the edge, hands slipping in his back pockets. He smiles- or more-like grimaces- shoulders lifting up to his ears. “-you should show me, the preserve, where you saw the hunters.” </p><p>“I didn’t <em> see </em> the hunters-” Theo sighs, gesturing pointedly to his newly healed side. “-they <em> stabbed </em> me.” </p><p>“Okay-” Liam is reaching out, the back of his hand smacking against Theo’s raised legs, batting them out of his way, he slips up onto the examination table. “-then show me where you got stabbed.” </p><p>Theo blinked. “Why?” </p><p>“So I can tell Scott-” Liam says, looking at Theo, jaw working, clenching tightly. Theo’s expression spasms briefly, and Liam adds hastily “-later, after when uh- you’ve gone wherever.” </p><p>Theo sighs, propping himself upwards, swinging his legs over the table. He stares at Liam’s side profile, eyes searching, raking, and then, he looks away. “Fine.” </p><p>“Seriously? Cool- I mean, yeah, fine.” </p><p>~</p><p>“Theo?” </p><p>Theo hums, tight-lipped and uncomfortable, fingers curling around his truck’s steering wheel, and he casts a careful, fervent glance in Liam’s direction, before snapping his gaze back onto the road. “Yeah?’ </p><p>“Why does-” Liam pauses, opening his mouth, then he closes it with a soft <em> clack </em>. His lips flicker, his nose twitching, and he folds his hands in his lap, staring down, jaw twitching. “-why does your truck smell like you?” </p><p>Theo inhales, then exhales slowly, turning the truck down a narrow woodland road, swallowing hard. “It’s <em> my </em> truck, Liam.” </p><p>“Yeah-” Liam says, and he’s turning in his seat, arm wrapping around the head rest, propping himself up, Theo <em> refusing </em> to meet his gaze, looking straight ahead, head screaming, the sirens blaring, because Liam <em> knows </em> , even if he doesn’t, he will and Theo’s seconds away from launching himself out the door, and onto the road. “-yeah, but this smells the same as my house, my <em> room </em>.” </p><p>Theo’s blanket is still hidden under the backseat, alongside his pillow, and a duffel bag packed full of clothes. His eyes flick to the glove compartment, his hands tighten around the steering wheel. </p><p>‘Why does your room smell like me?” </p><p>“You <em> know </em> that’s not what I meant,” Liam huffs, slumping forward, punching Theo in the shoulder, then he’s glancing at Theo, blue eyes searching for <em> something </em>, and Theo’s throat clicks. Liam’s silent for a beat, then he’s leaning forward, starting “So-” </p><p>
  <em> So, are you homeless? So, are you living in your truck? So, where do you live?  </em>
</p><p>“Liam-” Theo’s voice is clipped, distant. <em> He knows </em> , Theo thinks, and he’s panicking, <em> Liam knows </em>. He presses on the gas. “-shut up.” </p><p>~</p><p>Theo sits in the back of his truck, watching as Liam paces around the clearing, feet propped up onto the side, peering over the edge of Mason’s book, it’s quiet, and peaceful, and weirdly calm, so Theo drops his gaze back to the page, and starts reading.  </p><p>Liam’s tossing a pine cone up in the air, catching it absently, walking around in circles, and he’s mumbling to himself, and Theo’s again, too <em> tired </em> to try and figure it out. </p><p>~ </p><p>“Mason said you hang out at the library.” </p><p>Theo nods slowly, closing the book, resting it at his hip, his eyebrows furrowing, watching as Liam hauls himself over the side of the truck, slumping onto the bed.  “Yeah, I do.” </p><p>“Cool, uh-” Liam says, scratching at the back of his neck, he pulls his knees to his chest and then crosses his arms over them. He tilts his head to the side, resting his cheek against his forearm, squishing it upwards. “-you like to read?” </p><p>Theo squints, eyeing Liam warily. “Yes, I do.” </p><p>“That’s- that’s,” Liam scrunches his face, feet tapping against the truck’s bed. He flounders, thinking, trying to find something to say, his voice raises an octave “that’s cool?” </p><p>Theo’s lips quirk. “Yeah, it is.” </p><p>They sit in silence for a while. </p><p>Then, suddenly;</p><p>“You know-” Liam starts, swallowing hard and distractingly loud. He glances at Theo, shoulders rolling, eyes wide, and serious. “-being Theo isn’t that bad.” </p><p>Theo blinks. “<em>What</em>?” </p><p>“You said earlier,” He explains, grimacing, hand gesturing pointedly. “That you were Theo, like it was a bad thing, and uh- I’m telling you, it’s not that bad.” </p><p>“Right,” Theo says, unconvinced, but he nods indulgently, edging further away from the beta. “Okay.” </p><p>“No seriously-” Liam continues, sliding down the truck’s bed. “-Mason says-” </p><p>Theo opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowing once again. “Mason says?” </p><p>“Yes, <em> Mason </em> says,” Liam repeats. “That you didn’t think we were looking, and I didn’t say it before, but we were, I swear. And uh, yeah, you were kind of a dick, but you’re a little bit less of a dick now, and you don’t kill people anymore-” </p><p>
  <em> “When the ghost riders find us, I’m not going to do anything for you.”  </em>
</p><p>Theo just stares.</p><p>
  <em> “I’m not going to help you.”  </em>
</p><p>“-which is good, I guess, and yeah, the bar’s kind of on the floor, but like we wouldn’t leave you with the hunters or anything-” </p><p>
  <em> “I’m not going to save you.”  </em>
</p><p>Theo keeps staring. </p><p>
  <em> “I’m going to do exactly what you do to me.”  </em>
</p><p>“-and I’m running out of things to say right now, so uh, thanks for saving me, and Mason, and yeah.” </p><p>
  <em> “I’m going to use you as bait.”  </em>
</p><p>Theo nods again, slowly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Okay.” </p><p>“Okay?” Liam asks, head tilting. </p><p>Theo’s jaw twitches. “Yeah, okay.” </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em> “I also think whatever happened to you, you deserved it.”  </em>
</p><p>Tara’s crawling forward, clawing at the ground, eyes hollow, sunken, dead, empty, and she’s chasing, begging, searching and Theo’s running, stumbling, heart pounding, and he’s hating it, hating everything, but he knows, he understands, he deserves it, so he keeps running. </p><p>
  <em> “Is that right?”  </em>
</p><p>She’s always there, standing, haunting his every step, even when his eyes are open, even when he knows he isn’t dreaming. Tara’s hands are around his heart, and she’s pulling, tugging, tearing, nails digging into his flesh, into the muscle, piercing bone, and tissue, and he’s alone, back in the morgue, falling down onto the tiled floor, tears running does his face, and he’s saying, <em> I’m sorry, you don’t have to stop, I’m sorry, </em> because he deserves it. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo grips onto the steering wheel, staring out at the empty street. </p><p>He’s outside the McCalls’ front porch again, except this time, he isn’t alone. Liam’s sitting in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash, ignoring Theo’s complaints, arms crossed over his chest, and they’re both staring out onto the street. </p><p>Theo squeezes his eyes shut, shoulders tensing. He’s sitting, his breath stuttering, and he’s seconds away from kicking Liam out of his truck. “Are you going to go inside?” </p><p>Liam taps a finger against his knee, he raises an eyebrow, turning his head, tilting it to the side. “Are you?” </p><p>Theo blinks, looking at him, then looking away, jaw working, the muscles in his arms strain, then he sighs, dropping his head back, letting it hit the seat. “No.” </p><p>Liam glances out the window, <em> right </em> at the McCalls’ front porch. “Okay.” </p><p>He opens up the door, then steps outside, he rolls his shoulder, then slams the door shut, hand resting on the roof, he ducks down, peering through the window, and then he taps, once, then twice, asking Theo to roll down the window. </p><p>“I’ll see you around, right?” He asks with a small smile, lips tilting up awkwardly, uncomfortably. </p><p>Theo nods, slow, head tipping down, then up again. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeah, I guess.” </p><p>~ </p><p>It’s two weeks later, and Theo’s sitting across from Liam, and Mason, and Corey, awkwardly explaining a complicated biology question, his head ducked down, avoiding their attentive stares. </p><p>He’s sitting, and he’s explaining, and he’s still alive. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i promised some of you Theo'd get a friend, and i guess this sort of counts?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. monroe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Argent continues to tap his finger against his thigh, once, then twice, and Theo notices, absently that it’s his trigger finger. “That leads me to wonder <i>why.<i>” </i></i><br/><i><br/><i>“Why?” Theo prompts, feigning nonchalance. But his insides are twisting, and he’s battling down the overwhelming urge to flee, because Argent knows something, and Theo hates being in the dark. </i><br/><i><br/><i>Argent smiles. </i><br/><i><br/><i>“Why have they had such a hard time forgiving <i>you<i>?”</i></i></i></i><br/></i></i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay, so, this is round four, yayyyy. </p><p>i hope you guys enjoy. </p><p>please give me feedback, all your comments have been greatly appreciated!!!</p><p>(newly edited)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Then, it’s Monroe. </p><p>And that’s an explanation in itself. </p><p>They’re getting ready for the final show-down against a group of cult-like maniacs and Theo thinks, immediately, <em> I’m going to die </em>, with a sick sense of morbid certainty. </p><p>He’s ready, and he’s waiting, watching out of the corner of his eye for a signal, Liam by his side, Corey somewhere near, his scent distinct, and Mason back at home, speaking into Argent’s ear via bluetooth. </p><p>There’s a shout, then a roar, Theo shivers, launching himself forward, thinking,<em> I’m going to die,</em> and then all hell breaks loose. </p><p>~ </p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Theo’s sitting in his truck, staring out at the empty parking lot, <em> right </em> at the warehouse, palms braced on the steering wheel, and he thinks, <em> I should leave.  </em></p><p>The pack is still inside, all the adults are <em> still </em> inside, running through the correct arrest procedures, handing over control to Rafael McCall and his band of agents, fussing over their kids, fishing out bullets from shoulders, and legs, burning out poison with hardened expressions and tired eyes. </p><p><em> It’s time now</em>, <em> Raeken</em>, Theo thinks, mouth pressed into a thin line, the blood congealed across his knuckles, under his eyes, coating his tongue. <em> She’s gone, they don’t need you anymore.  </em></p><p>No one’s around, he’s the last thing on anyone’s mind right now- the last thing on <em> Scott’s</em>- and they wouldn’t stop him from leaving; couldn’t stop him from shoving his key into the ignition, starting the engine, pulling out of the parking lot, away from town, right onto the highway and abandoning everyone and <em> everything </em> that knows of him and his <em> past</em>. </p><p>Except Theo remembers sitting outside the McCalls’ front porch, remembers thinking the exact same thing, remembers realising, with no uncertainty, that he <em> can’t</em>, and then he groans, loud and frustrated, slamming his head against the steering wheel. </p><p>He presses the ridge of his forehead and the curve of his nose further against the wheel, squeezing his eyes shut and then Theo shudders, shoulders tensing, muscles twisting, and he swallows, hard, nostrils flaring, his mind is reeling, because Monroe’s <em> gone</em>, and they’re all <em> safe</em>, and he isn’t <em> dead</em>. </p><p>There’s a soft tap on the window, then another harsher, more urgent tap, and Theo freezes, back straightening, and his head snaps up. </p><p>Liam’s standing outside the passenger door, forearms resting on the truck’s roof, head ducked down, and he’s smiling, wide and open, eyes crinkling in the corners, riding on the high of victory. He looks so different, so <em> free</em>, and Theo suddenly, abruptly, despises everything, and <em> everyone </em> that has ever taken that expression away from the beta’s face; including himself. </p><p><em> I’m sorry</em>, Theo thinks, and then his heart lurches, because he’s never said it; he’s never said it to <em> any </em> of them. Liam’s head tilts, eyes illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the parking lot, and the moon, and the soft glow of the stars, and his cheeks puff, hand waving, gesturing up and down. </p><p>Theo unlocks the door. </p><p>Liam grabs onto the handle and swings it open. </p><p>“What?” Theo asks, eyebrow raised, fingers curling, his voice tight, just short of breathless, and Liam glances to the keys in his lap, and then to Theo’s eyes. He furrows his brow, opens his mouth, but then shakes his head, and sighs. </p><p>There’s something behind the light in Liam’s eyes, something searching, something darker, and Theo <em> stares </em> , because he remembers it. He remembers the unrelenting loyalty, the unquestioning the devotion, the fire, and the anger, and everything that made Liam tick; <em> still </em> makes Liam tick, and the way Theo used it, the way he tore Liam open, the way he pushed, and he pulled, and he hurt, until Liam was <em> nothing </em>. </p><p>“Hey,” Liam hums, hand resting on the top of the door, voice soft, coaxing, palm pressing into the cool metal. He’s quiet, and careful, throat constricting, leaning down, moving closer, and Theo moves back reflexively, stops staring, looks away, jaw twitching, sharp and harsh. </p><p>Liam sounds so <em> young</em>, and so amused, and it’s heartbreaking, but understandable. They’re kids, they’ve <em> always </em> been kids, teenagers shoved into a war, and everything’s a little morbid; a little hilarious. </p><p>“Do you think-” Liam pauses, glancing over his shoulder, and Theo looks back, studies the line of his jaw, the shadows on his face, and then follows the beta’s gaze, noticing Mason and Corey, huddled together, arms tangled, watching and waiting. Theo blinks, and Liam winces, turning to Theo, mouth tilting upwards, his smile more subtle, more awkward. “-do you think you could give us a ride?” </p><p>“Huh?” Theo shuffles, then grimaces, his shoulder stiff, the bullet wound opening, pressing, and twisting, and burning. “Yeah? <em> Yeah</em>, okay, sure.” </p><p>Theo should leave, but he <em> can’t </em> , and Liam smiles, turning on his heel, calling Mason and Corey over, hand still resting on the door, fingers gripping, arching, digging into the metal, and Mason stumbles forward, dragging Corey, head heavy, eyes exhausted, Corey huffing out a tired breath, the couple looking totally and utterly <em> wrecked </em>. </p><p>They slide into the backseat, defying the laws of physics, piling on top of one another, feet, and arms, and legs wrapped around each other. Corey shoves his head into the crook of Mason’s neck and Mason stares straight ahead, his shoulders dropping, the tension leaking, and Theo catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. </p><p>Liam slumps into the passenger seat, pulling the door closed, feet kicking up onto the dash, and Theo opens his mouth, ready to complain, but Liam’s eyes are closed, so Theo presses his lips together, and starts up the truck. </p><p>There’s a long expanse of dark road as they make their way out of the parking lot, and back into town. Theo winces, because his shoulder twitches, and pain radiates through his body, but he makes no noise, says nothing, and keeps his hands on the wheel, keeps driving. </p><p>Suddenly, quickly, Liam shoots out a hand, fingers wrapping around Theo’s wrist, squeezing tightly, and Theo <em> jolts </em> , jerking to the side. Theo’s head snaps to stare at Liam, ignoring <em> all </em> the rules of traffic safely, expression spasming, then crumbling, his control momentarily faltering, and he watches, shocked, tired, as the veins trail up Liam’s forearms, black, protruding, stark against his skin, disappearing underneath his rolled sleeve. </p><p>Theo’s staring, mouth open, hands clenched, twitching, and he swallows, mouth dry, throat raw, and he can’t think, <em> can’t </em> understand. Because Liam’s taking <em> his </em> pain. </p><p>Theo’s absolutely <em> gone</em>, his mind frozen, replaying the action, eyes trained on the lines, mesmerized. Mason’s smiling, he can feel it, watching them, lips curling, soft, and hopeful, and Theo’s heart is pounding, because you can’t take pain if you don’t care, so Liam <em> cares </em>, and Theo doesn’t know how to handle that. </p><p>“I could smell the blood,” Liam answers, even though Theo hasn’t asked a question, his grip remaining strong, unrelenting, turning to look out the window, thumb brushing over Theo’s pulse point, comforting, careful and Theo nods, slow and unsteady. </p><p>“Turn right,” Liam says, gesturing vaguely, and Theo nods again, swinging the truck around the corner. “It’s just ‘round there.” </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo waits for Corey, Mason and Liam to get out of his truck. </p><p>He expects them to leave, to go into the house, to not even look back as they stumble into the feeling of warmth, and home, and belonging. </p><p>But then Liam reaches out over the truck’s console, over Theo’s lap, hand resting on Theo’s thigh, neck exposed, and once again, there’s that blind trust as he pulls Theo’s keys out of the ignition, as he sits back, pocketing them in his jeans, and raises an eyebrow at Theo, daring him to protest. </p><p>Mason nudges Corey, dragging him out of the truck, and away from whatever is transpiring in the front seat as Theo stares at Liam, and Liam stares right back. </p><p>“You’re coming inside,” Liam says, voice quiet but serious, leaving no room for argument. </p><p>Theo nods, hands still on the wheel, still squeezing tight, and moves to unbuckle his seat belt. </p><p>~ </p><p>Corey doesn’t follow Mason and Liam into the house. </p><p>He’s standing, and he’s staring at Theo, and Theo swallows, because he’s always avoided Corey, always made sure to watch his words, and his steps, and everything else- even when Mason and Corey show up at the library, even when he’s hovering on the outskirts of pack meetings and Corey’s eyes never leave his face- because Corey’s seen the worst of Theo, but Theo’s seen the worst of Corey too. </p><p>“You killed Tracy,” Corey says, his voice harsh, arms crossed over his chest, eyes raking over Theo’s face, but then, he looks away, out onto the street, face framed in shadows from the porch light, his jaw ticking. “You killed Josh.” </p><p>Theo nods, swallowing. His weight shifting, his shoulders tense. Theo’s face hardens, expression flickering- he can see Josh, and Tracy, and Tara, and he can feel their hands tearing at his skin, taking his heart, laughing, merciless- and he inhales deeply. “I did.” </p><p>Corey wraps a hand around his bicep, squeezing, his fingers digging. And he looks at Theo again, his throat clicking, his teeth clenched. Theo opens his mouth but Corey's chemosignals are unreadable. “You deserve to be in hell.” </p><p>Theo smiles wryly, and he sees Tara, and Josh, and Tracy, and he agrees, because they’re dead; they’re dead because of <em> him </em> . That’s the simple truth. And Theo’s done with omitting the truth, he’s spent so long lying to himself, to others, but he <em> knows</em>; he’s always known. Tara’s still waiting, and the Dread Doctors are <em> still </em> haunting his every step. Theo nods again, exhaling shakily, hands glued to his side. “I do.” </p><p>Corey blinks, eyebrows furrowing, shoulders rolling. He seems surprised, his eyes widening, like he's caught off guard. Then he nods, lips pressing into a thin line. He folds in on himself, huffing out a high-pitched noise, like Theo’s <em> hurting </em> him- and that makes Theo panic, because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else; he <em> can’t </em> hurt anyone else. “You do.” </p><p>Theo’s silent, and Corey starts bouncing; starts shifting his weight. He’s restless, and uncomfortable, waiting for something, and Theo swallows <em> again </em>. </p><p>“You saved Liam,” Corey says then, voice quiet, cracking. “And Mason.” </p><p><em> I didn’t do that for you</em>, is what Theo wants to say, because he knows that’s what Corey’s thinking. Theo doesn’t want his trust; doesn’t <em> need </em> his trust, he just wants Tara to stop laughing. He’s done enough- the Dread Doctors have done enough.  So Theo can’t; he <em> won’t </em> see anyone else die. <em> I didn’t do that for you, or Scott, or anyone</em>. </p><p>“Why are you still here, Theo?” Corey asks abruptly, nastily, eyes hard, moisture building, and Theo doesn’t know how to answer, can’t answer, so he opens his mouth, then closes it, jaw working, nostrils flaring, heart pounding in his own, and Corey’s ears. </p><p>Theo stares, and he thinks, <em> I’m tired of seeing people die</em>, then, he opens his mouth, and unintentionally says “I’m tired of seeing people die.” </p><p>Corey’s expression crumbles. </p><p>“We hated you-” Corey says, tears building, and he's swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing, jaw moving, bouncing, clenching his teeth. Theo looks down, avoiding Corey’s eyes, and his hatred, and the phantom feeling of Josh and Tracy. “-<em>I </em> hated you.” </p><p>“But-” </p><p>Theo looks up, eyes wide. </p><p>“-we don’t hate you now, not <em> anymore</em>.” </p><p>Corey goes then, he turns around, walking into the house, following after Mason and Liam, joining his <em> pack </em>. He leaves Theo there, his mind reeling, mouth open, expression cracking, and Theo wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to scream. </p><p>Except instead, he stares, watching Corey leave, jerking when the door slams shut, his ears ringing, the blood rushing, and he takes a shaky breath. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo thinks about leaving. </p><p>He sits on the porch steps, keys secured tightly in-between his index and middle fingers, jutting outwards, scratching against his cheek, because his head is resting in his hands, knee bouncing. </p><p>His truck is right <em> there</em>, parked across the street, where he’s sat on multiple occasions, just looking in. </p><p>He <em> knows </em> he should leave, it’s the better decision; the wiser decision, he’s already too attached- he <em> likes </em> the McCall Pack, he <em> cares </em> about what happens to them, and that’s too much- but he can still <em> feel </em> Liam’s hand around his wrist; he can still <em> hear </em> Corey’s words echoing around his mind. </p><p>So he doesn’t leave. </p><p>~</p><p>Argent slumps next to Theo on the step. </p><p>He smells distinctly of wolfsbane and exhaustion, the scent curling in Theo’s nose, causing the chimera’s nostrils to flare. Argent’s quiet, his hands clasped in-between his knees, his forearms resting on his thighs, and he looks straight ahead. </p><p>“It’s over,” He says, eyes shut. </p><p>Theo nods, watching as a plastic bag blows past them, across the street, tangling itself in a tree. “It is.” </p><p>Argent remains stock still, expression unreadable, chemosignals hidden, his heartbeat steady. Theo waits, senses extending, searching, trying to pick up <em> something </em>; but he can’t, and that’s not a surprise. </p><p>They’re silent, listening to the hum of conversation wafting from inside. </p><p>“You killed Scott,” Argent states suddenly, finger tapping against his thigh, and Theo <em> flinches </em> . He remembers suddenly, involuntarily, the feeling of Chris’ gun pressed to the base of his skull and the resounding, overwhelming need; the <em> want </em> for him to pull the trigger. Argent repeats. “You killed Scott.” </p><p>Theo bites down on his tongue with blunt, human teeth, trying and <em> failing </em> to suppress the gutteral sound that escapes his throat, walls crumbling. Because Argent doesn’t <em> care </em> about anything but the truth, and Theo can admire that, can appreciate it. But he can also fear it; he can also <em> hate </em>it. And Theo can’t hide from it. </p><p>Argent pauses, mouth opening, not looking at Theo. “I tried to kill him too.” </p><p>Theo blinks, because he <em> knows </em> that, he did extensive research on everyone in the Pack, including the Argents, specifically the Argents. He knows about Chris’ past, he knows about Alison, and Victoria, and Kate, and Gerard. So he nods, slowly, carefully, and doesn’t say a word.  </p><p>Argent’s cheek tics. “You know that though, don’t you?” </p><p>Theo nods again. </p><p>Argent hums, head turning, tilting and then he’s looking at Theo; looking right <em> through </em> Theo. His eyes flicker, lighting up briefly with amusement, and Theo’s eyebrows furrow. “We’re a forgiving bunch, really.” </p><p>Theo stares. </p><p>Argent continues to tap his finger against his thigh, once, then twice, and Theo notices, absently that it’s his trigger finger. “That leads me to wonder <em> why</em>.” </p><p>“Why?” Theo prompts, feigning nonchalance. But his insides are twisting, and he’s battling down the overwhelming urge to flee, because Argent <em> knows </em> something, and Theo hates being in the dark. </p><p>Argent smiles. </p><p>“Why have they had such a hard time forgiving <em> you</em>?” </p><p>Theo reels back in shock, head spinning, and he bites down <em> hard</em>, his mouth filling with copper, shuddering, hands spasming, claws extending, and he struggles to grasp some control. His expression collapses, and he stares at Argent. </p><p>“But-” Argent continues, voice monotonous, reaching out a hand, wrapping his fingers around Theo’s wrist, the same wrist Liam had grabbed beforehand, squeezing tightly. He looks Theo in the eyes. “-I don’t think the problem is <em> them</em>, is it Theo?” </p><p>Theo opens his mouth, to argue, to say something, but Argent keeps going, keeps talking, his voice steady and unrelenting. Argent’s fingers arch, digging his nails into Theo’s skin. </p><p>“It’s not that they- <em> we </em> don’t trust <em> you</em>-” </p><p>Theo wants to interrupt, wants to run, wants to escape the inevitable, sucking in a sharp breath. </p><p>“-it’s that <em> you </em> don't trust <em> us</em>.” </p><p>Argent’s staring, and Theo’s never felt more <em> exposed </em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo, eventually, decides to join the rest of the pack inside. They’re in the living room, sprawled out on various surfaces, piled on top of one another in a tangle of limbs, food spread out across the room- pizza boxes, and bags of fries, and cans of soda- but Theo beelines <em> straight </em> for the downstairs bathroom, and shoves his mouth underneath the faucet. </p><p>He slumps against the locked door, knees pulled to his chest, head ducked down, breathing laboured, and he thinks, <em> oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, </em> because Argent had seen <em> right </em> through him, left him open, raw, gutted and the moisture is building behind Theo’s eyes, because Chris <em> knows </em> , he knows everything, between the truck and <em> whatever </em> that was out on the porch, and Theo can’t breath. </p><p>His chest heaves, shoving his head into his hands, fingers digging into his forehead, nails arching, scratching against his skin. Theo tosses himself backwards, hitting the door with a muted <em> thump</em>, his mouth tasting like soap, and salt, and he swallows down the bile, because he needs to hold down <em> something </em>; he needs to hold onto the control. </p><p>Theo curls in on himself, feet scuffing against the tiled floor. He inhales shakily, shuddering, leaving four neat half moon shapes indented in his flesh. Theo presses his lips together, raking a hand through his hair, and Tara sits across from him, her hair soaking wet, skin pale, cracked, decaying. </p><p>She smiles, eyes hollow, dead and Theo waits, because she’s moving closer, hand reaching out, fingers spasming, but then she stops, like she’s heard something, head cocking upwards, tilting, hair falling in a curtain around her face and she disappears. </p><p>There’s a <em> tap, tap, tap, </em> and Theo’s shoulder winch tighter, his breath comes out harsh, and he’s suddenly nine years old again, hiding from the Dread Doctors, heart pounding, tears rolling down his face, the taste of metal coating his tongue, the unmistakable feeling of guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach, because his sister is <em> dead </em> and he’s shaking, he’s overwhelmed, clothes caked in blood, and dirt, and mercury. </p><p>Except he’s not in the operating theatre, he’s in Scott McCalls’ bathroom. And that <em> tap, tap, tap </em> , isn’t the Surgeon, or the Deputies, but someone, knocking on the bathroom door. And he’s not nine years old anymore, he’s nineteen, and he’s still a chimera, and he’s been to Hell, or <em> whatever </em> the skinwalkers prison could be considered, and the guilt is still there, but it’s stronger. </p><p>“Theo?” A voice asks, <em> Melissa</em>, and Theo scrambles to stand. </p><p>“Yeah?” He glances at himself in the mirror, hands swiping across his face, slapping, brightening his cheeks, trying to remove the traces of emotion, because he’s going back out there, and he’s got to play his part. He ignores the shrill edge to his voice. “Yeah, I’m coming” </p><p>Theo unlocks the door, and steps out into the dimly lit hallway. Melissa’s leaning against the wall, head tilted, a somewhat soft smile playing at her lips, her eyes searching for <em> something</em>, and Theo stares, muscles coiling tighter, arms crossed over his chest- a shield, <em> protection </em> , because Melissa knows something too, and Theo’s already been torn apart twice, he <em> can’t </em> do it again. </p><p>“I need help in the kitchen,” She says, reaching out and hooking her fingers around his wrist- the same wrist as Argent, the same wrist as <em> Liam </em>- pulling him into the kitchen, around the table covered in food, past the dishwasher and right by the sink. Melissa opens up one of the cabinets, rocking forward onto her toes, and pulls out a stack of plates.</p><p>She shoves the stack of plates into Theo’s hands, patting his shoulder absently, circling the counter, picking up a bowl of salad, which Theo wrinkles his nose at, because the smell of vinegar is strong. She notices, and smiles again, careful, calculating, throwing a wink over her shoulder. </p><p>“They need to eat <em> some </em> vegetables,” She states, and Theo’s expression flickers, surprised by the benign openness, but nods, mouth glued shut, his smile tight, and uncomfortable. </p><p>She retrieves a glass from another cabinet, shoulder brushing against Theo’s, ignoring the way Theo <em> jolts </em>, taking a step back. Melissa fills it up with water, slowly, steadily, handing it to Theo with a knowing look. His throat burns, and he stares, the glass cold against his palm. </p><p>“You’re a good kid,” She says, just as Theo takes a gulp, looking out the window, into her back garden, mouth pressed into a thin line. Theo <em> chokes </em> , spluttering, water shooting out of his mouth, and then he grimaces, expression cracking, and he looks at her, helpless, surprised. She adds then. “You <em> can </em> be a good kid.” </p><p>Her hand is back around his wrist, squeezing, thumb moving, trailing patterns on his skin. And she smiles, reassuring, gentle, turning to scoop up a stack of cups, wedging them in-between her upper arm and hip, rounding the counter with ease. She’s satisfied, Theo can smell it, meaning she found <em> something </em> in his face- guilt, regret, maybe longing, maybe <em> fear </em>- in the way it twisted. Melissa drops his hand. </p><p>Suddenly, Scott enters the kitchen, and she beams, back turning, beckoning him forward, shoving the bowl of salad, and the unsteady tower of cups into his arms, one hand coming up to rest on his shoulder, running along his collar bone, moving to cup the back of his neck, his head ducking down.  </p><p>She glances at Theo, who’s still standing near the sink, and then turns to Scott, looking up, meeting her son’s eyes, face hidden behind a curtain of hair. They’re talking then, whispering, voices soft, desperate. Theo doesn’t listen, his mind is hazy, and tired, and he’s too afraid of screwing up <em> whatever </em> newfound, not-hatred feelings they have for him. </p><p>Melissa then turns to leave, heading into the living room, but pauses, hand still on Scott’s shoulder, she looks at Theo again, face careful, her voice gentle, and really it’s all a little <em> too </em> much for Theo. </p><p>“Malia has a plate for you,” She says, and Theo blinks, mouth open, vision swimming, mind reeling, because <em> what </em>. </p><p>She smiles, soft again, and walks through the door. </p><p>~</p><p>Theo turns to leave. </p><p>Scott catches his wrist. </p><p>It’s the same wrist, it’s <em> always </em> the same wrist. Theo looks down, stares at Scott’s hand, swallows hard, desperately. Then his eyes flick back up, he meets the Alpha’s gaze, and his neck tilts, unintentionally, casually, submitting, and Scott smiles, his chest rising, puffing out, and he straightens, resting the salad bowl back on the counter, chin ducking, steadying the cups, edging them back onto the marble top. </p><p>“I-” Theo starts, but his throat clicks, his mouth runs dry, and he stops, searching for the words, trying to explain, except he can’t, so he tries again. “I uh-” </p><p>“Thank you,” Scott interrupts, seriously, steadily, eyes hard, uneven jaw ticking. He nods, releasing Theo’s wrist, moving his hand to rest on Theo’s shoulder, then he smiles again, shaking the chimera slightly. “Thank you.” </p><p>“Thank you?” There’s a confused, incredulous edge to Theo’s voice, and Scott laughs, loud and bright, clapping his back, jostling him forward. </p><p>“You stuck around,” Scott says, eyes warm, powered by the feeling of the pack, the satisfaction of having everyone under one roof. “You didn’t have to do that.” </p><p>Theo closes his mouth, stares at him, he hesitates, but then quirks a knowing, self-deprecating smile, eyebrow quirking upwards, shoulders lifting, brushing against his ears. He’s hunching in on himself, cowering under the attention of Scott, the power the Alpha doesn’t even realise he holds. “I did.” </p><p>Scott blinks. He’s staring at Theo- his eyes searching, looking for something, trying to find answers, just like Melissa- and Theo raises his head, sets his jaw, pulls down the mask, and hopes that Scott doesn’t figure it out.</p><p>Except it’s <em> Scott</em>, and he’s unusually perceptive for a teenage boy. </p><p>“You <em> didn’t</em>,” Scott says, and then he adds, smiling again. “But you <em> did</em>.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Scott repeats, picking up the salad bowl, and the cups, moving to follow his mother back into the living room. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder, and then he flashes his eyes, Theo feels the prick at the back of his neck, his own eyes flaring in response. </p><p>Scott leaves, and Theo’s left standing there, clutching the stack of plates tightly in one hand, head-spinning, thrown through yet another loop. </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em> “You’re barely even human.”  </em>
</p><p>Later, when he's sitting in his truck, blanket pulled around his shoulders, pillow tucked behind his head, Tara will say those words, will sing them, chanting and taunting, reminding Theo of what he's done, of who he is. </p><p>But right now, Theo thinks, for once, staring at the kitchen door, the edge of several plates pressing against his palm, heart pounding, the words echoing around his mind, that maybe he can <em> learn</em>. </p><p>~</p><p>It’s quiet when Theo enters the living room, the majority either asleep or too engrossed in eating to care about making conversation. He hovers awkwardly for a minute, eyes flicking around the room, searching for somewhere to sit. Theo spots an empty corner, tucked behind the large leather arm-chair Stiles is draped over, away from most, if not all, of the pack, and secluded, hidden enough so Theo can sleep without the fear of being watched</p><p>He moves, stepping over a half-pumped air mattress, and the body slumped on top of it- Alec, maybe, the body’s breathing deep, and tired, the scent of exhaustion thick and heavy. He’s half-way through the obstacle course of supernatural beings when a hand wraps itself around his ankle, tugging hard, until Theo tumbles, falling down onto the couch, onto <em> Liam</em>, and the beta <em> oofs</em>, but smiles sleepily, shifting to the left. He allows Theo to slot in-between him and Malia. The werecoyote wordlessly passing the plate of food over, eyes trained on the screen of the tv, watching an old <em> Friends </em> re-run. </p><p>Theo knows Tara is hovering somewhere nearby, watching with Josh and Tracy, waiting until Theo closes his eyes, until he lets his guard down, and there's still a lack of trust, still the overwhelming presence of fear, both needing to be resolved, both needing time, but, Theo realises, with jarring certainty, he’s <em> alive</em>, and that's enough for now.  </p><p> </p><p><br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah, so theo has a friend, but now he's also learning how to deal with emotions!!! progress guys.</p><p>again, all feedback is greatly appreciated and thanks for reading!! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the truck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“-sometimes, I don’t want to go home either.” </p><p>Theo blinks, his brain short-circuiting, and he opens his mouth, ready to reply with something dry, something sarcastic, something that will bring back Corey’s scowl, and his harsh words, and the familiarity of the way Corey’s heart stutters, the way his eyes harden, because Theo knows hostility; he can understand hatred, but whatever Corey’s doing, it’s throwing Theo off balance. </p><p>Instead, he snaps, quick and entirely unintentional. “I don’t have a home.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the brainstorming for this chapter went a little like: </p><p>me: how do i get them to talk about theo being homeless??<br/>katelin gathering our one collective braincell to come up with this: ayo homie, why are you homeless. </p><p>and then things just escalated from there.</p><p>in other news, sorry for the wait, this is a little longer than usual, so i hope that makes up for it?</p><p>(feedback, is as always, appreciated, so please, please, please, let me know what you think!!)</p><p>(newly edited.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Following Monroe, it’s the truck. </p><p>There’s the familiar, unrelenting <em> tap, tap, tap </em> and Theo wakes up. </p><p>He doesn’t open his eyes at first, because he <em> knows </em> they’ll be flared. Tara was there; <em> is </em> there, hovering at the corner of Theo’s mind, so he waits, and ignores the <em> tap, tap, tap, </em> until it becomes more insistent, more urgent. </p><p>“I know,” Theo says, hand shooting upwards, waving absently, hoping to placate <em> whatever </em> deputy is outside. “I’m moving, I’m moving.” </p><p>Except, the tapping continues, so Theo looks up, and then he <em> freezes</em>. </p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me,” His voice is incredulous, a laugh erupting from Theo's chest. He’s staring right down the barrel of a gun, the only thing separating him from the hunter is a thin pane of glass. “You <em> can’t </em> be serious.” </p><p>The hunter leans forward, face hidden by a mask, tapping his gun against the truck’s window, then turning slightly, finger shaking, grip tightening around the trigger. Theo sighs, muscles coiling tight, raising his hands in surrender. But the hunter still <em> fires</em>. </p><p>Suddenly, idiotically, Theo lunges forward, ignoring the twinge in his chest as the shot, and the bullet, settles, hopping over the console and into the driver’s seat, turning the keys and starting up the truck in a series of quick, rapid motions. Theo reverses out of the parking lot, away from the abandoned warehouse he had hoped would shelter him, and the hunters. He winces as a round of bullets ricochets across the frame of his truck, but keeps driving, keeps moving until the hunters, and their license plates, and their guns are far, far, far behind. </p><p><em> Amateurs</em>, Theo thinks, as the hunters jeep fades away into the distance, the chase abandoned. <em> More fucking amateurs.  </em></p><p>When he’s satisfied, Theo parks his truck at the side of the road, scrambling out the door, slumping down, dropping to his knees, taking one deep shaky breath as his chest rattles, as the blood fills his lungs, because the bullet has lodged itself in his sternum, and though there’s no poison; no wolfsbane, it’s a little <em> too </em> close to his heart. </p><p><em> I’m going to die </em> , he thinks briefly, before realising abruptly, that he <em> won’t</em>. Because again, there’s no poison, and Theo heals, even if it’s a little slower than your average werewolf, he <em> heals</em>, so he flicks out a claw, digs it into the wound, and tugs. </p><p>~</p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Which isn’t a surprise. </p><p>Theo washes himself up in the public bathroom of the library, soaking wads of toilet paper in water, and dabbing them against his new-healed flesh, wiping away the blood, back pressed against the stall’s door, distrusting the stability of the lock, his feet planted firmly against the white tiles. </p><p>He wonders absently, if he should tell Scott, or really <em> anyone </em> in the McCall Pack, that there’s a gaggle of amateur hunters running around, shooting up innocent- well not so-much innocent, more-so unsuspecting- homeless teenagers. Theo knows that Stiles is back within the county line, that most of them are, because it’s the holidays, and as awful as Beacon Hills is, it’s also <em> home</em>. And he also knows that Stiles, and Scott, and their group of somewhat insane supernaturals would be all for going on a minor adventure, like some adrenaline-addicted junkies, but then there’s the issue of explaining <em> why </em> he was in his truck at six in the morning, and Theo decides that leaving the pack shrouded in mystery is for the better. </p><p>At least until he can come up with a convincing cover story. </p><p>So, he tugs his blood-stained shirt back over his head, grimacing as it sticks to his skin, pushing himself up from the door and turning to slide open the lock. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo’s back in his truck, switching out his shirt for a new one, ridiculously thankful that the old librarian was too absorbed in her work to even notice Theo stumbling out of the bathroom, through the reception and then outside. </p><p>Suddenly, he snaps up straight, grip tightening on the hem of his shirt. </p><p>Because Tara’s by his side again, fingers brushing against the base of his neck, the shiver erupting down his spine, goosebumps forming along his arms, across his skin. Her nails dig, then twist and Theo squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, starting up the truck, muttering<em> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, </em> because the smell of blood now only ever reminds Theo of <em> her</em>. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo winds up at a run-down twenty-four hour fast food joint at the other side of town. It’s quiet and dirty, the blue tiles coated with grime, the tables chipped, edges torn off in chunks and the paint is peeling off the walls, revealing damaged plaster and large stains. </p><p>He wanders towards the counter, tapping a finger against his thigh, bracing one palm on the marble top, absently reaching outwards and hitting the bell, calling for service. There’s a faint shout, and Theo hears someone curse, and then a clatter of metal, and the same person saying, rather loudly, <em> shit, sorry, I’ll clean that up!  </em></p><p>A woman pushes open the door, stumbling out of the kitchen, smiling widely at Theo as she tucks a pen behind her ear, hair brushing against her shoulders, apron tied tight around her waist. She steps around the counter, coming to stop at the register, and Theo glances upwards, <em> right </em> at the menu taped haphazardly above her head. </p><p>“What can I get for you?” She asks, tugging at the collar of her yellow uniform, thumb running over the edge, unbuttoning it slowly. Theo hooks the strap of his duffel bag higher up onto his shoulder, smiling slightly, eyes darting to the chalk writing on the menu board and then back down to the women. </p><p>“Coffee,” Theo says, swinging the bag around, clutching it to his chest, opening up the front pocket and pulling out a handful of bills. </p><p>She nods, taking the money, flicking open the register and handing back the change. The woman brushes an arm across the counter, then she leans forward, elbows braced on the table, flashing a softer, more friendly smile. “So, what’s got you around this part of town handsome?” </p><p>Theo smiles again, wider, charming, eyes crinkling upwards, throwing his bag back over his shoulder. “Just visiting some friends.” </p><p>“Visiting,” She purses her lips, chin resting on the palm of her hand, hair falling into her eyes, hiding her face, framing her features in shadows. He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  </p><p>“This place is open all night, right?” He asks then, glancing to the side, jaw working, eyes landing on a booth in the corner, tucked behind a pillar, and away from the large windows, but still close enough so Theo can look out; can observe. </p><p>“Sure is,” She nods, cheeks puffing, head tilting to the side. There’s another surprised shout from the kitchen and then a string of apologies and a second crash. The waitress laughs, pulling the pen from behind her ear, scribbling Theo’s order down on a loose piece of paper. “You don’t want to go home?” </p><p>Theo thinks of his truck, of the bullets holes, of Tara, and Josh, and Tracy, and Gabe. He shakes his head, fingers spasming, then smiles, careful and convincing. </p><p>“Or something like that,” Theo shrugs, tipping his head in both acknowledgment and thanks, he turns then, moving towards the booth. She slips back through the door and into the kitchen, his order gripped in between her fingers. </p><p>Theo slumps into the booth, sinking down onto the plush leather, arms crossing over one another and onto the table. He rests his chin on the heel of his palm, eyes drooping, staring blankly at the door, and out onto the near-empty parking lot. </p><p>“Here you are,” The waitress says, placing the cup of coffee in front of Theo. Her eyes are soft, flirtatious and she wipes a hand down the side of her thigh. She’s young, younger than the woman from the diner, maybe a little older than Theo himself. </p><p>“You alright?” She asks next, pressing a palm onto the table, just short of Theo’s forearm. He looks up, then nods, huddling a little further into the chair. </p><p>She moves, understanding, stepping back, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You sure? My shift is over soon, if you want some company.” </p><p>“I’m good,” Theo replies, nostrils flaring. Curiosity. <em> Lust</em>. Then, he adds with a smile. “Thanks.” </p><p>She nods slowly, fiddling with the hem of her apron, turning on her heel, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes flicking up and down. There’s another crash in the kitchen, and she sighs, picking up her pace, hurrying to investigate. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo’s eyes open slowly, and all he can see is darkness. </p><p><em> Oh</em>, he thinks; swallowing, mind filled with white noise. He shifts his weight, feeling cool metal against his back, and his eyes slide shut again. Theo stretches out his hearing, searching for something, for <em> anyone </em>, but all he hears are soft footsteps, and the absence of a heartbeat. </p><p><em> No </em>, he thinks next, realising, his hands shooting up, pressing against something solid, finger tips splaying outwards, pushing, but it stays immovable, and his eyes snap open. The panic building, replacing the dazed, foggy feeling inside his head. </p><p><em> No, no, no, no. </em> His pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding into his veins, he pushes harder, scrambling, desperate, eyes wide, and breathing laboured, because <em> this can't be real.  </em></p><p>Metal. </p><p>He slams his hand against it, then again, and again, and again, hearing the <em> thunk</em>, <em> thunk</em>, <em> thunk</em>, desperately hoping that he’ll wake up in the back of his truck to the deputies tapping on his window. </p><p>“Shit,” He says aloud, nails scraping, feet kicking. “Shit, no, no, no.” </p><p>He’s twisting, slamming against the other sides, elbows, knees, legs, arms, all flailing, all hitting, punching, scratching, clawing, trying and trying and trying, because he’s trapped, and he needs to get out, because this is some sick and twisted dream, just like all his others, and he’ll wake up soon, just like he has before. </p><p>He underestimates his own strength, his own desperation, because suddenly, he’s tumbling out, right onto the floor, right onto the familiar tiles- stretching out in a pattern that makes his stomach churn- and he’s shaking, his arms unsteady, hauling himself to his feet, the tears rolling down his cheeks, and he’s staring at the tiles, at the walls, at everything, because he knows where he is, and he’s thinking, <em> this isn’t real, </em> even as the cold seeps into his bare feet, and that eerie dream feeling disappears, <em> I can’t be back here</em>. </p><p>He runs, even as he thinks, <em> Liam broke the sword</em>, he runs, because she’s coming, just like she does in his dreams, she’s coming and he knows it’ll be soon. </p><p>He runs. </p><p>He runs, and he <em> runs </em> , slamming into other rooms, calling out names, asking for someone, <em> anyone</em>, glancing back over his shoulder, looking for her face, but she’s not there; not yet, and he keeps running. </p><p>Then he hears his name, and her sickenly sweet voice, except, it’s echoed by more, by others, and he’s running, because it’s not only Tara, now it’s Josh, now it’s Tracey, and he’s running, because they’re coming. </p><p>“Theo,” They’re calling, coaxing, growing nearer and nearer, closer and closer, until Theo stumbles upon the elevator, and starts hitting the button, desperate, and panicked. </p><p>“Theo.” They drawl, lyrical and taunting. </p><p>
  <em> Theo, Theo, Theo, Theo.  </em>
</p><p>“Come on,” He says, voice cracking, pushing at the button, shifting his weight, shaking, the blood rushing to his head, through his ears, he sobs.  “Come on.” </p><p>The elevator doesn’t open. </p><p>Theo presses his forehead to the closed doors, then slowly, surely, turns, back hitting the metal, and <em> waits</em>, watching as they crawl closer. </p><p>Tara, with her expressionless face, and hollow eyes, reaches out, mimicked by both Josh and Tracey, her hand punching through his ribcage, wrapping around his heart, and Theo stays, shoulders slumping, the fight draining, and hopes, silently, <em> desperately</em>, that he’ll wake up in his truck, alone. </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo jolts awake, snapping out of his half-dozed state, banishing Tara, and Josh, and Tracey- and the strange half-nightmare that felt a little too <em> real </em> - to the very corners of his mind. He looks up, catching sight of a familiar face; one that makes his heart pound distractingly loud, because Theo <em> loves </em> to avoid his problems, and those ‘problems’ include Corey.</p><p>Corey’s standing at the foot of the booth, nostrils flaring, eyebrows furrowed, his hands shoved into his back pockets, yellow uniform shirt loose over his dark-wash jeans. He slips into the booth, sitting awkwardly across from Theo, arms folding in his lap, hands clasped together. Theo watches idly, fingers drumming against the table, muscles coiling tighter, lips pressed together. </p><p>They stare at each other, and Theo is suddenly, unwillingly transported back to the McCalls’ front porch; reminded of the biting cold, and Corey’s harsh glare, and the words, <em> you deserved it </em> , but also, <em> we don’t hate you, not anymore</em>. Corey swallows, fingers curling into tight fists, eyes darting to the counter, and the kitchen, then back to Theo. </p><p>“Uh-” Corey starts, then stops, eyes roving Theo’s face, eyebrow twitching. He looks out the window; away from Theo, heart pounding, chemo signals a mess. Theo can smell anger, and stress, and fear, but also, something <em> else</em>; something Theo doesn’t want to think about. </p><p>“You work here?” Theo asks, voice harsh, impatient. He brushes his thumb over the table, nail scratching against the grit, then winces, because Corey visibly bristles, and Theo’s too <em> tired</em>; too worked up, to even act like he’s annoyed by the situation. </p><p>“Yeah,” Corey squeaks, voice raising, then he grimaces, eyes fixed on the near-empty parking lot, reflexively flinching, shoulders lifting upwards, brushing against his ears. “Yeah, I do.” </p><p>“Oh,” Theo replies, intelligently. His mouth opens, and his eyes dart across Corey’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the way his gaze remains firmly planted on the darkness outside. They’re silent, and the lights overhead flicker. Theo takes a deep breath, glancing to the side, catching sight of his truck tucked behind a lamp post. Then, he says “<em> Corey</em>.” </p><p>Corey looks back, catches Theo’s eyes, then squirms.</p><p>“What do you want?” Theo asks, trying to seem careful, tongue curling around the words, except, he sounds angry, and Corey winces. </p><p>Corey flounders, mouth opening, then closing, stumbling over his words, eyes wide, like he’s just remembered <em> who </em> Theo is; <em> what </em> Theo’s done. He finally settles on; “You’re still here.” </p><p>Theo nods, slow and calculating. His expression spasms, because he <em> knows </em> Corey isn’t talking about their current situation. Theo’s still in Beacon Hills, even though he’s been M-I-A for <em> months</em>, and that’s a surprise to exactly no one. Suddenly, without intention, something darts across Theo’s face, there and then gone, taut, dangerous, panicked. Theo also <em> knows </em> Corey saw it; has noticed it, by the way his head tilts, and his mouth parts. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back, chin tipping downwards, and says. “So are you.” </p><p>“Home for the holidays,” Corey replies dismissively, answering Theo’s silent question; confirming the observation. He’s supposed to be at UCLA with Mason and Liam, far, far away from the hell-hole that is Beacon Hills. Corey then sighs, his lips tugging upwards, awkward and apprehensive. He gestures vaguely to the darkness outside. “Theo, it’s late.” </p><p>Theo follows his hand, glancing out into the parking lot, lip pulled in-between his teeth. Corey’s eyes remain glued to his face, analysing the chimera’s expression and then Theo rolls his eyes, quirking a default self-deprecating smirk. “I know.” </p><p>“Sometimes-” Corey ventures, slowly placing his hands on the table, palms facing down, fingers spread outwards. Theo feels his temper flare, uncoiling in his chest, his arms clenching, because Corey’s scent has gone hot, careful, almost <em> caring </em> and that unearths something Theo doesn’t want to think about, <em> again </em> . Corey’s voice is soft, nervous, the complete opposite of the tone he used on the porch, and Theo gulps down the knot in his throat. “-<em>sometimes</em>, I don’t want to go home either.” </p><p>Theo blinks, his brain short-circuiting, and he opens his mouth, ready to reply with something dry, something sarcastic, something that will bring back Corey’s scowl, and his harsh words, and the familiarity of the way Corey’s heart stutters, the way his eyes harden, because Theo <em> knows </em> hostility; he can <em> understand </em> hatred, but whatever Corey’s doing, it’s throwing Theo off balance. </p><p>Instead, he snaps, quick and entirely unintentional. “I don’t have a <em> home</em>.” </p><p>Corey <em> freezes</em>. </p><p>“What?” Corey asks then, seemingly shocked, <em> reeking </em> of confusion. Theo shakes his head, realising abruptly, and with great alarm, that he’s just inadvertently admitted that he’s <em> homeless</em>. He jumps upwards, gathering his belongings- which really just consists of his black duffel bag- and scrambles out of the booth, leaving the cold, untouched cup of coffee and Corey behind. </p><p>Corey follows hastily, stumbling forward, hand reaching out, wrapping a hand around Theo’s wrist, tugging him backwards, stopping Theo from running out the door. “Theo,” he says, voice tense. “What does that mean?” </p><p>“Shit,” Theo hisses, his own hand wrapping around Corey’s wrist, pulling at the fingers, trying to pry himself free. He shakes, feeling cornered; <em> caged </em> .“Shit, shit, shit, <em> shit</em>.” </p><p>“<em>Theo</em>,” Corey’s voice has dropped low, and Theo swallows, glancing up, face blank. </p><p>“Nothing,” Theo says, his eyes flashing. He snarls. “It means <em> nothing</em>, let me go.” </p><p>“Theo,” Corey repeats, pulling Theo closer. He squints his eyes, lips pressed together. “What does that <em> mean</em>?” </p><p>“Let me go, Corey,” Theo growls, stepping backwards, muscles coiling tighter. But Corey doesn’t listen, opening his mouth, ready to say something else, but then, suddenly, the waitress from earlier stumbles out of the kitchen, laughing loudly. </p><p>“Oh,” She says, her steps faltering. The waitress glances at Theo, then Corey, then at their joined hands. Corey drops Theo’s wrist. “Am I interrupting something?” </p><p>“No,” Theo hooks the strap of his bag back up over his shoulder, and casts one more wary glance in Corey’s direction. He smiles, charming again, shoving the fear, and the panic, and the overwhelming urge to run down. “No, you’re not, I was just leaving.” </p><p>“Theo,” Corey says, but Theo keeps moving, walking until he’s out the door and heading towards his truck. </p><p>~ </p><p>“So, you finally let it slip, huh?” Argent states, gun balanced precariously on the dash of Theo’s truck, head thrown back, pressed against the seat, rolling until he’s looking at Theo, expression blank, eyebrow raised. </p><p>Theo hums, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, teeth clenched, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Unfortunately.” </p><p>They’re sitting in the preserve, tucked behind a canopy of trees, parked at the edge of the empty clearing behind the Hale House. The truck’s engine rumbles, filling the silence, and Theo suddenly feels completely unsafe; on edge, because everyone <em> knows</em>, everyone <em> will </em> know, and Theo doesn’t <em> know </em> how to handle that. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Argent asks, arms crossed over his chest, watching Theo carefully; intently. </p><p>“Why didn’t <em> you </em>?” Theo counters, and Argent’s lips flicker, something like amusement, there-and-then-gone, appearing across his face. </p><p>Argent didn’t say anything; he <em> hasn’t </em> said anything, to anyone, and Theo often wonders why, because the McCall Pack is all about trust, and loyalty, and honesty, and hiding the fact that Theo is living in his truck definitely breaches at least two of those key components. </p><p>“You could leave,” Argent muses then, nodding across the wide-berth of grass, towards the narrow dirt-road. He arches upwards, hand slipping into his jacket pocket, pulling out an old, leather wallet, then, purposely placing it on the dash, glancing back at Theo, waiting for his reaction. “Corey is at the house now, relaying the situation, I’m sure you’d have enough time to put some miles between you and Beacon Hills.” </p><p>Theo stares at the wallet, fingers curling, squeezing tighter, his eyes flicking to Argent, then to the dash, then back at Argent again. <em> He’s right </em> , Theo thinks, <em> I could leave; I should leave</em>. But Theo’s come to the conclusion that he can’t leave; that he <em> won’t </em> leave, over and over, and over again. Not that he would <em> ever </em> say something like that out loud. </p><p>“Unless-” Argent says, finger tapping against his thigh, head tilting, body turning to the side so he can look <em> right </em> at Theo; so he can analyse the chimera’s expression. “-you don’t <em> want </em> to leave.” </p><p>Theo’s expression spasms, face twisting, something uncharted chasing itself across the lines of his forehead, the dip of his brow. He swallows, glancing at Argent, then at the dash again, mind reeling, because he <em> doesn’t </em> want to leave, and Argent has seen right through Theo <em> again</em>. </p><p>“Hardly,” Theo denies, aiming for unbothered, but falling short, because there’s a jump to his voice, something harsh, stricken and Argent’s eyes dance, because the hunter <em> knows </em> Theo doesn’t want to leave; he just needed some sort of confirmation. </p><p>Argent smirks, sharp and dangerous, the tension leaking from his muscles, releasing a harsh breath. If Theo didn’t know better, he would presume Argent was scenting him, with the way the hunter’s nostrils flare. But Theo <em> does </em> know better, so he knows Argent is just playing some game, testing loyalties and boundaries, his eyes narrowing, searching Theo, because apparently, he can read Theo like an open book. </p><p>“They’ll come looking for you,” Argent says then, settling himself into the passenger seat completely, like he’s comfortable; like he’s at <em> home </em> , and that makes Theo tense, because the truck, albeit it’s small nature, is his territory; just <em> his </em> in general, and Argent is there as a guest, an uninvited guest- but Argent knows that too, and it’s probably why he’s toeing the line between what’s acceptable and what isn’t- and Theo’s officially learned to <em> hate </em> hunters, and their ability to understand everything. </p><p>Theo nods, slow and steady, releasing the parking break and throwing a hand around the back of the passenger seat, reversing out of the clearing and onto the dirt road. He sighs, reluctant but accepting, remembering Mason’s words, <em> we were looking, Theo,</em> and the uncertainty that came with them. “I know.” </p><p>~ </p><p>Theo’s sitting on the McCalls’ front porch, <em> again</em>. </p><p>Argent had joined the rest of the pack inside, abandoning Theo to his own devices, patting the chimera’s shoulder as he passed, smirk still sharp; still knowing. Theo supposes they’re talking about him, talking about what to do with him, because Theo’s been hiding the fact he’s homeless, he’s been <em> lying </em> , and that betrays <em> everything </em> Scott McCall stands for, or at least, a solid majority of his principles.  </p><p>It’s strange, seeing his truck parked in the driveway, like he was invited; like he <em> belongs</em>. Theo’s spent nights across the street, years inside his truck, and the rare few moments staring at it from the very same spot he’s sitting in now. He presses his lips into a thin line, exhaling softly through his nose. </p><p>If he focuses his hearing, he could probably catch the conversation; could listen and calculate his next move, plan what to do, where to go. But he doesn’t, he just waits, because he knows that soon, someone will come outside, will sit beside him, and ask him questions, ask him <em> why</em>. </p><p>Theo’s distracted, but he catches the sound of the door hinge squeaking, of quiet footsteps, and the increased volume of voices, the barrier of the door being removed, opening, allowing the scent of pine, and warmth, and <em> Alpha</em>, to escape; allowing Scott to appear at Theo’s side, and drop down onto the steps. </p><p>They sit in silence, Theo concentrating on Scott’s heartbeat, and his breathing, and the sounds of outside. Reminded abruptly, uncomfortably, of standing in the kitchen, staring at Scott, mouth open, hearing the words, <em> thank you</em>, followed by a soft smile. </p><p>Scott hesitates, swallowing, and Theo bristles, waiting, shoulders tensing, going rigid. Then, suddenly, Scott’s expression spasms, twisting, and Theo’s nose is assaulted with the scent of guilt, which causes his stomach to churn, because he <em> hates</em>; no, he can’t <em> handle </em> that smell.“You’ve been sleeping in your truck.” </p><p>Theo nods slowly, looking out onto the street, fists curling. “Yeah.” </p><p>Suddenly, the air changes, becoming hot, staticy and Theo <em> freezes</em>, turning to watch as a lick of red bleeds into Scott’s irises, as his voice drops low, questioning. “Why didn’t you tell us?” </p><p>Theo blinks, instincts rising, jaw ticking, raising one shoulder, his fist still clenched, shrugging defensively, awkwardly, struggling under the weight of the power Scott holds; the power Scott doesn’t even realise he exudes. His gaze remains fixated on the house across the street. “Why would I?” </p><p>“Because-” Scott starts, then stops, grimacing. He can’t bring himself to say it; can’t bring himself to accept Theo, because Theo, in no exaggeration, <em> killed </em> him, and allowing Theo into the pack, showing him vulnerability, well, it goes against the very nature of their species. Theo understands that, understands the distrust, and the panic, and the confusion. He is a <em> threat </em> , Theo will <em> always </em> be a threat, and there’s no sugar-coating the truth. “I’m <em> sorry</em>.” </p><p>“Don’t be,” Theo says, voice clipped, harsh and insistent. He’s being blunt, but he <em> has </em> to be, Scott cares <em> too </em> much, for <em> too </em> many people. It’s his fatal flaw; it’s <em> Liam’s </em> fatal flaw. They’re both just giant bleeding hearts that don’t know when to stop; that don’t know their own limits.</p><p>“You’ve been living in your <em> truck</em>,” Scott hisses, like it <em> matters</em>, and Theo wants to laugh. </p><p>“<em> Scott</em>-” Theo sighs, slumping against the step, throwing his head back, a hand running down his face, and then he actually starts laughing, because Scott is being <em> ridiculous</em>, and the scent of guilt is making Theo light-headed. “-you’re <em> allowed </em> hate me, you’re <em> allowed </em> hate what I’ve done.” </p><p>“I don’t hate you,” Scott insists, and his heartbeat is steady. Theo nods, slow, understanding because he <em> knows </em> Scott doesn’t hate him; but that doesn’t mean Theo can’t smell the hesitation. </p><p>“A part of you always will,” Theo shrugs, dismissing the way Scott’s expression cracks open. Then, he adds. “Just like a part of me will <em> always </em> be afraid of you.” </p><p>“Afraid?” </p><p>“I’m going to spend my life making up for what I did to <em> you </em> - what I did to your <em> pack </em> ,” Theo’s tongue curls around the words, and his muscles stiffen, because he’s exposing himself; exposing weakness. “I’m <em> never </em> going to succeed, and I’m okay with that.” </p><p>“You’ll always have the sword, you’ll always have that power, that threat to keep me in line, and I’ll understand if you use it-” Theo pauses, flashing a smile- a reluctant, self-deprecating smile- and then continues, waving a hand when Scott opens his mouth. His chest tightens, coiling, the instinct; the urge to run, it’s heavy and overwhelming. “-because I <em> deserve </em> it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate it. It doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of it; afraid of <em> you</em>.” <em> Afraid of her</em>, he thinks. </p><p>Scott’s eyes widen, because he’s always been more perceptive than Theo gives him credit for; reading in-between the lines, collecting the information, and realising abruptly, unsurprisingly, that Theo isn’t <em> only </em> talking about fear. Then, he says “You don’t trust us.” </p><p>Theo’s hand moves to his chest, right over his heart, and his fingers arch, scratching. Scott watches, eyebrows furrowed, gaze flicking to Theo’s face, then back down. The <em> thump, thump, thump, </em> of Theo’s heartbeat is deafening, and they’re both silent. </p><p>“Derek has an apartment,” Scott tells him then, looking away from Theo, back out onto the street. “Actually, he has a whole building.” </p><p>~ </p><p>“You’re an idiot,” Liam states, leaning forward, hands on the underside of the Geyers’ old couch, straightening upwards, lifting the couch off the ground, ignoring Mason’s sudden <em> oof </em> as he scrambles to distribute the weight between them, balancing the couch amongst their arms. </p><p>Theo scoffs, gathering a stack of books, and thrusting them into Corey’s awaiting grasp, eyes narrowing to glare at the beta as Mason and himself maneuver their way through the narrow door of the loft, and into Theo’s new, open living room. </p><p>“I don’t have a home,” Liam mocks, voice going high in a poor imitation of Theo’s usual snarky quips, he laughs, dropping the couch down onto the wooden floor. “What kind of brooding teenager are you?” </p><p>Corey snorts, carrying the books over to the empty shelf pressed against the wall- courtesy of Stiles, who, albeit reluctantly, sacrificed some of his old bedroom’s furniture in favour of Theo not sleeping in his truck, and also because Liam’s pestering was relentless- and Theo glares at him too. “An effective one, apparently.” </p><p>“Seriously,” Mason says, hopping over the couch’s arm and flopping forwards, face colliding with the leather coated cushion, rolling until he’s looking at Theo, eyebrow raised. “What was the goal here? Live in your truck for the rest of your life? For an evil mastermind, you’re kind of stupid.” </p><p>“Ex-evil mastermind,” Liam sing-songs, dropping down onto the stomach of his best friend, smiling widely at Theo. Corey places the books on the shelf, glancing at the covers and blurbs, lips tugging upwards, <em> hopelessly </em> fond. </p><p>Theo growls, but there’s no threat, he’s playful, and that doesn’t surprise <em> anyone </em> but himself. He huffs, bending down to scoop up a cardboard box filled with mis-matched cutlery, bowls and plates. “I miss when you all were afraid of me.” </p><p>“You don’t,” Liam chirps, baring human teeth at Mason as soon as the human tries to shove him off, they launch into a wrestling match, arms and legs flailing, until Liam winds up face planting onto the floor, and Mason’s cackling from his perch on the back of the couch. </p><p>“You better clean up that blood,” Theo grumbles, rounding the couch, his own lips pulling into a small smile at Liam’s groan, and the way the beta tips his head back, blood dripping from his nose, fingers pinched at the bridge. He throws a lopsided salute in Theo’s direction, calling out a nasally <em> aye, aye, captain, </em> as Theo disappears around a pillar and into the kitchen.  </p><p>He dumps the box of plates, and cutlery, and bowls, onto the marble topped counter, opting resolutely, to <em> not </em> unpack, because he can’t hear movement from the living room, and that <em> can’t </em> be a good sign. </p><p>When he returns, Liam is still sitting in a pool of his own blood, staring down at his phone while Mason is over by Corey, flicking through the books, talking quietly amongst themselves. Theo quirks an eyebrow, glancing around <em> his</em>- and that’s strange to think about, strange to say, because he’s only ever owned his truck, and now he has somewhere else, somewhere <em> new</em>- still barren living room. “Are you three going to help, or are you just happy to admire the scenery?” </p><p>Liam’s head snaps upwards, blood congealed around his upper lip, hair disheveled, and he lifts one lazy finger, giving Theo a thoroughly sarcastic, wonderfully obscene wordless reply as he rolls back onto his heels and stands up. </p><p>Mason and Corey scurry to pick up more boxes, reestablishing their roles as Scott McCalls’ amateur move-in crew, Liam taking a detour, heading to search for the bathroom down the long winding hall that leads from the open kitchen to the guest bedroom. </p><p>His head pops back out from behind the wall in a matter of seconds, and looking seriously disgruntled, he asks “Where the fuck is your bathroom?” </p><p>Theo laughs walking towards the beta, a hand wrapping around Liam’s bicep, and drags him up the spiral staircase, to the bedroom and ensuite. Liam huffs, shaking Theo’s hand from his arm, then bumps their shoulders together, tipping his head in thanks. </p><p>Theo watches as he disappears through the door, then wanders over to the balcony, forearms resting on the wooden railing. For the first time since returning from the skinwalkers prison, Tara isn’t watching, she isn’t standing at the corners of his mind, haunting his every step. She’s not the one thing rolling around in his head like a constant, unrelenting mantra.</p><p>Instead, Theo’s standing, looking out at the apartment, his apartment, watching as Corey throws an arm over Mason’s shoulders, whispering something in his ear, a box tucked under his other arm. He’s standing, and listening to the tap run, and Liam’s breathing, and the quiet gasp as cold water splashes against the beta’s face. </p><p>He’s standing, and he’s watching, and he’s listening, and he’s still alive. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so theo isn't living out of his truck anymore, yay.</p><p> and just to give you guys a timeline- the chapter 'monroe' happened about a year after canon, and this is then a couple of months after, so theo's been out of hell two-ish years?</p><p>as you can see, this is pretty much just coinciding one shots of theo's road to redemption, but i do hope you've all enjoyed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. liam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Don’t forget,” Theo blurts, punching the numbers into the keypad, eyes scanning the vending machine’s contents, the words quick, and sudden, all too unintentional. He grimaces, swallowing, and keeps his gaze fixated on the yellow-packaged chips as they fall from the top shelf. Scott’s head snaps upwards, expression confused, looking right at Theo. </p><p>“What? Scott asks, eyebrows furrowed, and Theo wants to smack his head against the wall, regretting, instantly, the choice to even say anything at all. </p><p>“You trust too easily,” Theo says, recalling Stiles’ words, and turns to Scott, shoulders tense, muscles rigid, waiting for an attack. He knows who he is, he knows he won’t try anything again, but they don’t, and the fact that they’re slowly accepting his presence, it’s dangerous. “Don’t trust me again.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and we've reached the end. </p><p>thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos!! please give me feedback on this last chapter, i hope it's a satisfying ending to theo's little journey of self-acceptance ;)</p><p>(everything's newly edited)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finally, it’s Liam. </p><p>Theo’s slumping into his truck, tossing a cloth bag packed-full of groceries to the side, watching as it falls just shy of the passenger seat, right down onto the floor, loose fruit spilling out and rolling, the skin undoubtedly bruised. He wraps a hand around the steering wheel, staring out at the near-empty parking lot, tapping out a beat with his finger, waiting for Liam to return. </p><p>They’re on a supply run for the pack meeting- well, a meeting for the pack and Theo, who’s become somewhat pack-adjacent in the months following the whole truck debacle, hovering on the outskirts, more included than before but still not <em> pack</em>- and Liam was insistent on bringing the cart back to the store, leaving Theo to do all the heavy lifting. </p><p>It’s dark, well into the evening, the fluorescent HID lamps flickering helplessly, bathing the truck, and the store, and ultimately Theo, in a soft glow of white light. A shadow darts across his vision, and Theo stiffens for a second, thinks,<em> not here Tara, not now, </em> but then he realises that the shadow is a <em> person</em>, and <em> not </em> a manifestation of his nightmare-induced catatonic state. </p><p><em> Liam? </em> Theo thinks then, lips pressed together in a thin line, opening up the driver’s door, stepping out and standing up. Theo’s hand rests on the roof of his truck, one leg inside the vehicle, the other planted firmly on the parking lot floor. His eyebrows furrow as the breeze shifts, the scent of anger, and pine, and an overwhelming, bitter hint of fear hitting his nose. </p><p>“Liam?” Theo asks, fingers enclosing around the keys in his hand, stepping fully out of the truck, eyes flaring, focusing on the blurred figure, irises rimmed with gold. </p><p>A man, Theo notes, has his hand wrapped around someone’s bicep; has a hand wrapped around <em> Liam’s </em> bicep. There’s the muzzle of a gun pressed to Liam’s temple. Liam’s standing and staring straight ahead, his back to Theo, his jaw set, teeth clenching. His shoulders are rigid, the muscles coiling, and Theo has to swallow down the snarl that threatens to erupt from his chest. </p><p>Theo reaches into his back pocket slowly, pulling out his phone, pressing the home button, and sliding down the contacts list. The hunter looks back, catching Theo’s gaze, eyes widening, expression hidden behind a familiar mask and his grip on Liam falters momentarily. Theo presses on the contact at the top of his list, favourited in case of emergencies, and dials the number just as Liam wraps a clawed hand around the hunter’s wrist. </p><p>“<em>Theo</em>?” A voice asks, and Theo shoves his phone back into his pocket, ears straining, hearing stretching outwards, catching the increasingly urgent tone of Scott, glad that the Alpha didn’t immediately hang up. </p><p>An SUV turns into the grocery store’s parking lot with a sickening jerk, tires screeching against the gravel, tracking up dust and dirt. Three other masked individuals hop out from the doors, reeking of wolfsbane, and gunpowder, and mistletoe, and pride. Theo backs up against his truck, shoulder blades colliding with the cold metal as he growls in frustration, fangs elongating, claws extending. </p><p>“Let him go,” Theo grounds out, voice dropping low. </p><p>Liam’s claws dig into the hunter’s flesh, drawing blood, and he snarls, eyes flaring, teeth snapping inches away from the man’s face. The hunter grins, yanking Liam closer, the gun tilting, pressing into the beta’s skull. He laughs, loud and taunting, nose to nose with Liam, completely and utterly unbothered. </p><p>“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Theo asks then, deciding to take a different approach. He lets the shift drop, but his eyes remain gold. His tongue curls around his next words, voice silky and smooth, coaxing the hunter into a false sense of security, taking a slow step forward. “That’s the beta of a True Alpha, do you have <em> any </em> idea what that means?” </p><p>A quick and sudden; “Get back.” tumbles out of the hunter’s mouth, but then he’s laughing again, and Theo thinks, absently, resolutely, <em> I hate hunters</em>. </p><p>“I know more than you think,” is the hunter’s off-handed reply that follows the laughter, voice light and airy; somehow maddening.</p><p>Theo notices, collects, then files away the sight in front of him, his brain <em> click, click, clicking </em> like a machine; the Dread Doctors’ <em> machine</em>, analysing, picturing, memorising then storing the information and remaining impassive. He’s the negotiator. Theo pulls down his mask, his lips quirking into a quick, default smirk, playing the part of a diplomat as well as he had played the part of an innocent omega.</p><p>“Do you?” He questions further, looking at the hunter, then at Liam. </p><p>“We do,” A familiar voice cuts in, and one of the three new arrivals wrenches off their mask. </p><p>“Preston,” Liam growls, struggling against the hunter, and the newcomer, Preston, grins, nodding in acknowledgment. Theo remembers, suddenly, the stench of guilt and grief emanating from Liam, from Nolan, from Scott, and Mason, and Corey, and Stiles. And anyone who has ever had to witness their friends, and their family, and strangers die. Because it’s back again, and it’s stronger than ever. <em> Brett and Lori,</em> he thinks, then he swallows, because he <em> knows </em> Preston; is reminded of the zoo, and Liam’s fear disguised as anger; Liam’s <em> guilt </em>. </p><p>“Liam,” Preston drawls, tugging a knife out from his belt, glancing at his companions with a silent order. Abruptly, two sets of hands enclose around Theo’s own biceps, pitching him forward, causing the chimera to stumble. A hand slips into his back pocket, and Theo tenses. </p><p>“Oh,” Preston says, head tilting, watching as his lackey waves Theo’s unlocked phone in the air. He reaches forward, clicking the <em> end call </em> button, then turns towards the hunter holding Liam, eyes flicking from the beta to the hunter, then back to Liam again. “Drop the weapon,” he instructs, and Theo’s eyebrows furrow. </p><p>Theo’s aura of nonchalance drops, revealing pure, unadulterated rage as the hunter holding Liam obliges; but not before tilting his gun downwards and <em> firing</em>, the bullet piercing Liam’s calf, resulting in the reappearance of Theo’s fangs, and Liam’s frustrated and pained snarl. </p><p>“In the car,” are Preston’s next words, and his lackeys nod obediently, tugging Theo towards the SUV. Liam growls, and Preston continues to smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, except he raises a hand and adds, “Not <em> him</em>, the beta.” </p><p>The others release Theo immediately, and Preston surges forward before Theo can react, knife gleaming with some sort of thick, black, liquid dripping slowly from the tip. He rakes the blade <em> right </em> across Theo’s throat, laughing wildly as Theo <em> chokes </em> , the poison acting quick and fast, because it’s not <em> just </em> wolfsbane; because now, these hunters are <em> experienced </em> and know, that a simple bullet, even a wolfsbane bullet, <em> isn’t </em> enough to kill a chimera. </p><p>He hears Liam yell his name, then the accompanying struggle as the beta fights against the hunters’ hold. Theo rolls, settling himself on his knees and Preston grabs him by the collar, hoisting Theo upwards, finally dragging him over to the SUV and dumping him inside. </p><p><em> I’m going to die, </em> Theo thinks, blood slowly filling his lungs. Liam’s at his side immediately, hands pressing to the open wound, eyes wide with panic, scent hot and frantic as he hisses, <em> shit, shit, shit, </em>over, and over, and over again. </p><p>~</p><p>He doesn’t die. </p><p>Theo wakes up an unspecified amount of time later and his nose is immediately assaulted with a distinct blend of disinfectant and fur. He raises a hand, absently counting his fingers,<em> one, two, three, </em> because he remembers, rather muzzily, that Preston- who should’ve been rotting in a jail cell alongside Monroe and the rest of her merry band of murderers- had slit open his <em> throat</em>. </p><p>Theo <em> still </em> feels the phantom press of the blade, and the numbness that followed as his body went limp and the poison seeped into his flesh. He groans, loud and exhausted, rolling onto his side, and thinks, <em> four, five</em>, using his elbow to prop himself up into a seated position, realising, distractedly, that he’s in the <em> animal clinic</em>, and the immediate threat is <em>gone</em>. </p><p>“Careful,” Stiles warns, shoving Theo back down onto the examination table. Theo unintentionally leana into the warmth of Stiles’ palm, and notes, with not much surprise, that he’s <em> shirtless</em>, which ultimately explains <em> why </em> he feels like he’s spent twenty-four hours in an industrial freezer. </p><p>“You’re not fully healed,” Stiles says then, voice devoid of <em> any </em> emotion. His fingers tip Theo’s chin upwards, analysing the length of his neck, lips pressed into a thin line. He seems satisfied with whatever he sees, because he takes a step back. “The knife was laced with mistletoe, took out half of your vital organs with one swipe.” </p><p>“This-” He pauses, hand wrapping around Theo’s wrist, gesturing pointedly at the spiderweb pattern of black veins crawling up Theo’s forearm. “-is what’s left of it, Deaton has you on that drip-” He nods at the plastic bag hanging from a makeshift stand “-so <em> please</em>, sit still until he gives you the all clear.” </p><p>“Where is Deaton?” Theo asks, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for Stiles to release his wrist. </p><p>Stiles sighs, dropping Theo’s arm and says bluntly; “With Scott.” </p><p>Theo’s eyes remain firmly closed and he growls. “And where is Scott?” </p><p>Stiles moves across the room, and Theo tracks him auditorily- inhaling shakily, his chest expanding, rattling, lungs still clogged- as Stiles wanders towards the glass cabinet, rifling through the shelves, picking out vials, unscrewing the tops, and sniffing loudly. “With Liam.” </p><p>Theo snorts, and says; “Thanks for the information.” </p><p>“My pleasure,” Stiles drawls, slamming a vial back down onto the shelf. . </p><p>Theo sits up, shuffling down the examination table, rolling his shoulders, his chest feeling tight and uncomfortable, the muscles coiling. </p><p>“You don’t listen to anyone, do you?” Stiles questions from across the room, Theo huffs but doesn’t open his eyes. </p><p>“No, I just don’t listen to <em> you</em>,” is Theo’s reply, and this time, Stiles snorts, but says nothing else. </p><p>Stiles’ phone buzzes in his pocket, once, then twice, then over, and over, and <em> over </em> again, the vibrations pounding against Theo’s skull. There’s the familiar rattle of the radiator, and for a minute, Theo’s back in the operating theatre, the Surgeon’s cane tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. </p><p>“Are you going to answer that?” Theo asks, his voice coming out harsher than intended. He’s tired, and he can <em> feel </em> his cells reconstructing piece by piece, and maybe it’s psychosomatic- Theo’s sure that the sudden awareness of everything around him has something to do with it- but the burn seems to be a little too real; a little too <em> sharp </em>. </p><p>“Irritable,” Stiles says, like he’s analysing something; like he’s collecting data, treating Theo like a project, like an <em> experiment</em>- which is what Theo <em> is</em>, bred and raised to infiltrate and attack, but that <em> doesn’t </em> mean Stiles can use that fact for his own personal agenda. </p><p>Theo’s eyes shoot open, and he immediately finds Stiles leaning against a wall, running a vial in between his fingers, watching Theo with a certain stillness that he earned in his years with the FBI; some new maturity. He adds. “Tense.” </p><p>“I know fear, Theo,” He says, kicking himself off the wall. Stiles approaches slowly, vial still in hand, one arm crossing over his chest, a defensive move, one Theo recognises as a shield, as <em> protection</em>. “You’re afraid.” </p><p>Theo doesn’t reply. He hears his own voice, as he sits on the McCalls’ front porch, Scott by his side, saying, <em> just like a part of me will always be afraid of you </em> . Because Theo knows Stiles can read people; look through <em> everyone </em> and Theo can bet Scott has said something, has reported back to his friends, and his family, but Stiles blatantly calling him out is <em> not </em> what Theo expected whatsoever. </p><p>“Everyone’s had the chance to talk to you,” He continues, moving closer, hovering at the edge of the examination table. “To get to know you, to <em> vouch </em> for you.” </p><p>“Except for me,” Stiles says, and he looks <em> straight </em> at Theo. </p><p>“I was the Nogitsune, Mason was the Beast, Derek, and Jackson, and Chris-” Stiles is watching Theo, searching for a reaction, listing off names, and sins, like they’re comparable, like what Theo did, and what they <em> had </em> to do is the same. “-even <em> Alison</em>.” </p><p>Theo opens his mouth to interrupt, but Stiles waves him off. </p><p>“We’ve all hurt him, Theo. We’ve all hurt <em> them</em>,” Stiles says, and then he looks away from Theo, right at the wall, jaw working. “And for so long, I thought you were <em> different</em>, I thought you were <em> evil</em>. Because you knew what you were doing, you had control, so everything you did, everything you helped <em> them </em> do, it was on <em> you </em> right?” </p><p>“I’m a realist Theo, I don’t trust easily, because Scott trusts <em> too </em> easily,” Theo hears Stiles, but his mind is focused on the words, <em> it was on you </em> . Because that <em> is </em> the terrifying truth; because it <em> was </em> on him, everything <em> is </em> on him. Tara, Josh, Tracy, Corey, Hayden, and everyone else, every other victim, <em> he </em> was the first, <em> he </em> was the driving force, <em> he </em> was the reason they tore so many people apart. Even Gabe, who fell victim to Monroe’s manipulation, because Monroe saw the horrors committed by the Beast, and Theo was raised to be the <em> Beast</em>.  “And there needs to be that balance, we <em> both </em> need that balance.” </p><p>“And then, I realised that <em> you </em> need that balance too.” Stiles’ fingers wrap around the edge of the examination table, leaning forward, hand gripping Theo’s wrist <em> again </em> , tapping at the fading black lines. “That’s what everything was about, wasn’t it? The need for balance; the need for <em> control</em>.” </p><p>Theo doesn’t answer, and Stiles nods, like he <em> understands</em>. </p><p>“I know fear, Theo,” He finishes, looking back at Theo. “But I think I know you too.” </p><p>Theo opens his mouth, stops and starts, readying denial, readying admission, readying snark, but then, he settles on something else, something <em> exhausted </em> because the phone’s still buzzing, and Theo’s head is still pounding. “Answer your phone, Stiles.” </p><p>Stiles smiles, wide and open, like he’s delighted by something; like he <em> knows </em> something Theo doesn’t, and that makes Theo uneasy, because as Stiles so eloquently put it, Theo has an insatiable need for control, one that can’t suddenly be forgotten now that he’s <em> not </em> living in his truck, and <em> not </em> surviving off of whatever scraps the Dread Doctors, or the McCall Pack, provide. “It’s not my phone.” </p><p>~</p><p>To the Pack’s credit, they pieced together the stage of events pretty quickly. </p><p>Stiles watches, lips quirked upwards, <em> hopelessly </em> bemused, as Theo scrolls through the myriad of messages, expression becoming more pinched as he reads over every word. The first twenty or so messages include Liam insisting he’s fine in a series of short, clipped, two word answers, followed by Mason cutting in, often contradicting Liam’s statements, or sharing information for Melissa, and Corey being the only remotely responsible of the three, asking questions about Theo, and the hunters, and whatever else happened in between Theo’s injury and him waking up in the animal clinic. </p><p>Scott adds to the conversation about ten minutes after Corey’s last question with a status report, informing everyone of the arrest procedures, and the fact that they don’t exactly know <em> how </em> Preston escaped arrest the first time round, but are damn sure that he won’t do it again. Melissa expresses her gratitude for that piece of information by sharing a video of Liam, Corey and Mason in a small hospital room, each holding a handful of playing cards, brows ducked in concentration. </p><p>Stiles catches sight of the scene over Theo’s shoulder, and snorts, shaking his head. “He’s looking happier.” </p><p>“Happier?” Theo asks, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>Stiles hums, but doesn’t elaborate. “Happier.” </p><p>Theo glances back down, watching as Liam smiles, slamming his card down onto the portable table. Mason huffs out a frustrated breath, and collects two cards from a pile resting in the corner, careful to avoid the drip attached to Liam’s forearm. Corey puts down another card on top of Liam’s, a grins in triumph at the sound of Liam’s groan. </p><p>“Deaton should be back soon,” Stiles says, glancing quickly at the door of the animal clinic. “When he gives you the all clear, they’re going to want to see you.” </p><p>“See me?” Theo wants to laugh, because it certainly wasn’t something Theo <em> ever </em> thought Stiles would say to him. </p><p>“We all thought you were as good as dead,” Stiles looks back at Theo, raising one shoulder to his ear, nodding awkwardly, eyebrow furrowing slightly. Something in Theo’s tone must’ve given away what Theo was thinking. “They’re going to want to see you.” </p><p>Suddenly, abruptly, Theo realises, <em> I’m alive </em> , like he didn’t <em> know</em>. His hand immediately shoots up to his neck, rubbing across his skin, feeling the newly-healed flesh. He thinks of Tara, and he’s relieved, because he’s <em> not </em> going to be seeing her again, at least, not outside his dreams. Then, Theo notices that Stiles is <em> watching</em>, and he tenses. </p><p>“You’re alive,” Stiles says, and Theo <em> hates </em> how perceptive the whole damn pack is. </p><p>Theo tosses his head back, bringing both of his hands to his face, and sighs, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. “Why are you here Stiles?” </p><p>“They needed someone to stand guard,” Stiles shoves at Theo’s legs, clearing some room for himself on the examination table. “And I needed to talk to <em> you</em>.” </p><p>~</p><p>There’s a text from Lydia, well someone he can only presume is Lydia- who’s far, far away from all the commotion, cramming for finals in her small MIT dorm room, well, according to Stiles anyway- and Theo can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles out of his chest when he reads her message. </p><p><b>Lydia: </b>If you make me scream in the middle of a lab experiment again, I’ll kill you myself.</p><p>Stiles raises an eyebrow, but Theo doesn’t answer his silent question. </p><p><b>Theo:</b> Duly noted. </p><p>Theo saves her number, and then stares at the screen, content to watch as it fades to black in an effort to save power. Stiles is still sitting next to him, and his eyes light up, mouth opening, then closing, and Theo guesses that he’s seen Lydia’s words. </p><p>“She screamed, didn’t she?” Stiles asks, and the question holds a weight Theo can’t even begin to comprehend. </p><p>“Yeah,” Theo says, and he’s a little breathless, his brain trying to connect the facts, understand, how Lydia knew, and why she <em> screamed </em> . Because Theo held no importance to any underlying supernatural event, at least, not <em> anymore </em> . Then, he thinks, suddenly, <em> unless-, </em> except, he doesn’t even let himself finish the train of thought, just looks at Stiles, and nods. “Yeah, she did.” </p><p>~ </p><p>The gun is pressed to the pack of Theo’s skull <em> again</em>, and Theo smiles. </p><p>“I feel like we’ve done this before,” Theo says, nostrils flaring, catching Argent’s familiar, warm scent. His palms are pressed to the window of his truck, and he <em> waits </em>, head bowed. He’s calm, relaxed, and even though the muzzle of a gun is pressed to the base of his neck, his muscles remain loose and the shift stays hidden under his skin. </p><p>Deaton came back minutes after Stiles and Theo had fallen into a somewhat awkward lapse of silence, checking over Theo’s vitals before admitting, in an infuriating placid tone, that Theo was free to go, and even recommended he stop by the hospital; so Melissa can confirm Theo’s clean bill of health. Theo, of course, took that advice, along with a shirt, as he made his way outside and towards his truck; he can only assume that someone had driven it to the clinic after Stiles handed him the keys. </p><p>“Oh really?” Argent drawls, the gun dropping from Theo’s skull and back down to his side. He grabs Theo by the shoulder, and spins him around, slamming Theo against the truck, careful to keep his hand on Theo’s collar bone, and not anywhere near the chimera’s neck. </p><p>Argent checks Theo over, eyes roving the unmarked skin of Theo’s throat, right under his chin, then he nods, satisfied, his hand remaining on Theo’s shoulder, but not pressing as hard, not trying to keep Theo still. </p><p>“Yeah,” Theo says as Argent looks <em> right </em> into his eyes, studying Theo carefully. </p><p>They’re silent for a few minutes, then, suddenly, Theo’s face is colliding with the hunter’s chest, his senses overwhelmed with the smell of gunpowder and <em> safety </em> . Argent’s hand finds its way to the back of Theo’s head, and his grip tightens quickly, before he’s releasing Theo and stepping back, face devoid of <em> any </em> emotion and scent giving away <em> nothing </em>. </p><p>“Glad you’re alive kid,” He says, and Theo <em> bristles</em>. </p><p>Argent nods then, satisfied, patting Theo’s shoulder before he steps back. </p><p>~</p><p>Theo’s driving, staring out a the narrow stretch of dark road- reminded, suddenly, of his months surveying every part of Beacon Hills, collecting information to use in his mission for the Dread Doctors, like a weapon, like a <em> pet</em>- and he swallows down the bile that rises, since he’s on his way to the hospital, <em> again</em>, and keeps driving. </p><p>He swings the truck around a corner, the engine sputtering, crawling slowly up in the hill and into Beacon Hills Memorial’s back parking lot. Theo sighs, parking his truck, and leans forward, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel, trying and failing, to comprehend Argent’s words. </p><p>He huffs out a tired laugh and shakes his head, opening up the driver’s door and stepping out. His hand rests on the roof of his truck, and Theo blinks up and the many levels of the hospital. He inhales deeply, and thinks,<em> I hate hospitals</em>, before heading inside. </p><p>It’s still <em> too </em> easy for Theo to get in and past all the staff members, foregoing the receptionist’s desk in favour of the elevator, recalling Stiles’ vague instructions of, <em> they’re on the fourth floor </em> , <em> back wing, </em> waving his phone in the air pointedly. Theo presses the required button and watches as the elevator’s doors close, back pressed to the cool metal, eyes squeezing shut as he thinks, <em> Tara isn’t here, </em> and, <em> I’m alive. </em> </p><p>Theo’s stomach twists, the scent of antiseptic filling his nose, and even after all these years, he’s terrified that she’ll be there, that he’s still down there. </p><p>The elevator dings, and opens up onto a wide corridor, similar to the one on the third floor. He scurries across the tiles, until he reaches the end, dodging nurses, and doctors, and porters, a charming smile plastered to his face, removing any suspicion as he meets their eyes with a soft gaze. </p><p>He pushes open the doors at the end of the hall, and turns left, immediately hearing familiar voices and catching familiar scents, without really trying. </p><p>“<em>Jesus </em> Liam-” Mason is saying, and then there’s the barely audible sound of <em> something </em> colliding with Corey, presumably Mason’s back, because after Corey’s initial yelp of surprise, there are no complaints. “-he’s <em> fine</em>, you saw Stiles’ text.” </p><p>“<em>Stiles</em>,” Liam hisses, his reply followed by loud creaking, presumably the bed he’s sitting on. “Is <em> not </em> a source I trust when it comes to information about Theo’s well-being.” </p><p>Theo then hears Corey’s exasperated sigh, and the shuffling of cards as he says; “I’m sure Stiles is aware of your fangs and claws, and what you will use them for if he lies about Theo.” </p><p>Liam huffs, but doesn’t say anything in protest. </p><p>“You know who isn’t fine, though?” Mason asks, and then there’s the sound of bed sheets moving, and a soft smack, which Theo doesn’t exactly know how to interpret. “<em>You</em>.” </p><p>Theo tenses. </p><p>“I <em> am </em> fine,” Liam stretches, trying to come across placating, but failing because Corey <em> snorts </em> . “Seriously, I’m <em> okay</em>.” </p><p>“You got <em> shot</em>,” Mason says, but it doesn’t have the bite Theo expects, it’s almost mocking, Mason’s voice dripping with <em> something </em> Theo doesn’t understand, just as Corey actually, openly, <em> laughs</em>. “You are not <em> fine</em>.” </p><p>“Shut up,” Liam grumbles, and Theo can only assume that Mason is smiling. </p><p>~</p><p>Melissa finds Theo staring at the door of Liam’s hospital room. </p><p>“Oh,” Melissa says, eyes widening, immediately scanning Theo critically, searching for any signs of injury, ignoring the way he shrinks under her gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. She’s in her uniform, plastic gloves tucked into the waistband of her pants, hair pulled back, face lined with the worries of yet another shift. </p><p>Theo hovers at the door of Liam’s hospital room, inadvertently hunching in on himself, muscles coiling, waiting for her to say something else. There’s a clipboard tucked under her arm, and a plastic bag filled with what Theo can only presume is food, hanging at her side. </p><p>She opens her mouth, then closes it, mulling over her words. Theo watches, and waits, shoulders stiff until she finally settles on; “Good to see you,” and pushes at the room's door, her chemosignals soft, and coaxing, revealing relief, and the faint trails anxiety.</p><p>“I brought dinner,” She says, raising the bag pointedly, Corey looks up, but Mason and Liam are both engrossed in yet another round of whatever card game they are playing. Melissa adds, then; “And Theo.” </p><p><em> That </em> grabs their attention. </p><p>“Here,” She says, dropping the bag onto the bed. Then, she turns on her heel, back to Theo, and places a hand on his shoulder, tracing it along his collarbone, until it rests at the base of his neck. Melissa runs a thumb along the flesh under his chin, forcing his head back gently; she pretends not to notice the way Theo flinches, or the small, soft smile that makes its way onto his lips at her gesture. </p><p>“<em>You</em>-” She states, tapping once at Theo’s skin, before she’s stepping back, and her hand falls away. “-need to rest.”</p><p>Theo realises, abruptly, that her earlier disregard was a ploy to get Theo inside the room without any extra awkwardness, and something akin to affection lights in his chest. Suddenly, he’s extremely grateful that she had caught him loitering outside. </p><p>Theo nods then, slow and steady, earning a smile from Melissa, and a satisfied pat on the shoulder. She turns to Liam, Mason and Corey, moving until she’s at Liam’s side, hand pressed to his forehead, checking over his vitals, and his bandaged leg, which is propped up on a pillow by Mason’s hip. </p><p>Melissa smiles again, then leaves the room, heading out the door and down the corridor in search of other patients. </p><p>Corey starts rifling through the plastic bag, pulling out containers that smell distinctly of honey, and egg, and oyster sauce. There’s three plastic forks, and Corey’s eyebrow furrows, looking down at the cutlery in his hand, then up at Theo. </p><p>“We’ll share,” Liam states, as he takes the fork from Corey’s hand, and beckons Theo closer. Of <em> course</em>, Theo complies, because the last time he had seen Liam, they both were covered in his blood and <em> reeking </em> of decaying flesh. Mason watches Theo shuffle forward, stopping at the edge of the bed, right next to Liam, and his lips quirk upwards, amused. </p><p>Corey’s sitting on the chair by the bedside locker, and Mason’s seated at the foot of Liam’s bed, however, in a series of quick movements, those positions change as Mason hands a tub of beef and oyster sauce to Liam, before settling on the arm of Corey’s seat. He then gestures at Theo encouragingly, and though Theo raises a sceptical eyebrow, he <em> does </em> take Mason’s spot on the bed, and blinks as Liam shoves the box of food, and the fork, <em> right </em> under his nose. </p><p>“You’re alive,” Corey acknowledges, shoving a forkful of fried rice into his mouth. </p><p>Theo snorts, accepting the box from Liam. “So are you.”  </p><p>Mason, and Corey, and Liam share a look before Mason says; “Oh, shut up.” And throws a piece of chicken in Theo’s general direction. </p><p>~</p><p>Scott’d shown up about an hour after Melissa had left Theo, Mason, Corey and Liam alone with the food and their thoughts. He had checked over Liam, eyes scanning, and watching, hands careful, moving across Liam’s leg, draining any excess pain. When he was satisfied, he turned to Theo, looking him up and down, before wrapping a hand around his bicep, and dragging him out into the hall. </p><p>He had shoved a dollar into Theo’s hand, and pressed his shoulder to the wall, waiting. The corridor was silent; until Theo decided to open his mouth</p><p>“Don’t forget,” Theo blurts, punching the numbers into the keypad, eyes scanning the vending machine’s contents, the words quick, and sudden, all too unintentional. He grimaces, swallowing, and keeps his gaze fixated on the yellow-packaged chips as they fall from the top shelf. Scott’s head snaps upwards, expression confused, looking <em> right </em> at Theo. </p><p>“What? Scott asks, eyebrows furrowed, and Theo wants to smack his head against the wall, regretting, instantly, the choice to even say anything at all. </p><p>“You trust too easily,” Theo says, recalling Stiles’ words, and turns to Scott, shoulders tense, muscles rigid, waiting for an attack. He <em> knows </em> who he is, he <em> knows </em> he won’t try anything again, but they <em> don’t </em>, and the fact that they’re slowly accepting his presence, it’s dangerous. “Don’t trust me again.” </p><p>Scott’s lip quirk upwards, he cocks his head to the side, curious, wondering. “You know that makes me want to trust you, right?” </p><p>“It’s going to get you killed,” are Theo’s next words, and he crouches to pick up his bag of chips. </p><p>Scott shrugs, and his eyes are bright, like he’s <em> amused</em>. “Liam’s still alive.” </p><p>Theo ignores the implications of <em> that</em>. </p><p>“You said you were afraid,” Scott muses then, glancing at Theo, then away, down the corridor, towards Liam’s room. Theo blinks, because he is afraid, of <em> Tara </em> , of what will happen <em> after</em>, and what will happen <em> now </em> .  “But you’re still here. If you don’t want our trust, then what do you <em> want </em>?” </p><p>Theo’s silent, and Scott waits expectantly. </p><p>“I want to learn,” Theo admits, and then he squeezes his eyes shut, because he can <em> feel </em> the breeze as Scott's head whips around, and the burn of Scott’s power-infused stare, like a powerful, unrelenting weight. </p><p>“You want to learn?” Scott questions, trailing off. </p><p>Theo swallows, glancing at Scott, down to his stomach, where he remembers, vividly, physically, the feeling of his claws piercing through Scott’s skin, then his gaze flicks back to the machine. He clarifies, quietly, reluctantly; “To be human.” </p><p>Something darts across Scott’s face, and then there’s the faint echo of, <em> you’re barely even human </em>, circling around Theo’s mind, before Scott’s eyes widen. Theo realises that maybe he’s a little too sentimental; that maybe, Scott doesn’t remember what he said after Theo’s hand tore through his muscle and bone, but suddenly, Scott answers: “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay,” He repeats then, nodding, face breaking out into a soft smile, “<em>Okay</em>, you can learn.” </p><p>~</p><p>Theo <em> had </em> planned to take Liam home from the hospital- that <em> was </em> what he had said, after Liam had been thoroughly checked over by Melissa, and then, confirmed to be fine, once again, by his step-father, who glanced between the two, and nodded- but he <em> hadn’t </em> planned on ‘home’ being the McCall house until he was pulling into their driveway. </p><p>So when Liam looked <em> right </em> at Theo over the console, Mason and Corey already well on their way back into town, and nods towards the turning point that leads into the McCalls’ estate, Theo didn’t argue, because he <em> couldn’t </em> argue, and Liam <em> reeked </em> of exhaustion, so he thought, that <em> maybe</em>, being around pack would cure the tiredness that had seeped into the beta’s bones.</p><p>They’re both sitting, and staring at the McCalls’ front porch, the sun already starting to rise, because it’s been <em> hours </em> since the grocery store, and Theo didn’t even realise how late- or rather, early- it was until the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. </p><p>“Are you going to go inside?” Liam asks, glancing outside, to the door, and the window just left of it, where they can see Malia slumped down onto the dining room table, head in her hands, Scott standing over her, a hand carding through her hair. </p><p>Theo’s lips quirk involuntarily, and he thinks, <em> maybe I’m not the only one who remembers things </em>, replying softly with; “Are you?” </p><p>Liam’s expression is blank, then it twists, lips curling at Theo’s words. “No.” </p><p>They’re silent then, and Theo knows better than to speak. When Liam’s silent, it’s because he’s thinking, and when Liam’s thinking, <em> everyone </em> has to be careful about what they say. Theo shifts in his seat, the silence crawling under his skin, itching, scratching, <em> clawing </em> ; like <em> Tara </em>, and Theo swallows, hand moving to his face, scrubbing downwards. </p><p>Suddenly, without warning, Liam’s fingers tangle in Theo’s shirt, and then, he’s climbing over the console, and onto Theo, his calves pressed against the truck’s console, one arm propping himself up on the dash, the other still secure in-between the fabric of Theo’s shirt. Liam’s close, close enough for Theo to see the exact moment where he comes to a resolute decision, and Theo’s chest rattles, staring up at Liam, waiting for <em> whatever </em> it is. </p><p>Liam very clearly overestimated his ability to balance in the small truck cab- and it <em> is </em> small, definitely not big enough to cater to two fully-grown adults throwing themselves, and each other, around- because their mouths collide with much more force than intended, and even though Theo can taste blood, whether it’s his own, or <em> Liam’s </em>, he doesn’t know, he just immediately, instinctively, reaches a hand upwards, cupping the base of Liam’s neck, his fingers arching, tangling themselves in Liam’s hair. </p><p>Liam moves closer, climbing further over the console until he’s sitting in Theo’s lap, mouth still moving insistently, bracing both his palms on Theo’s shoulders, grinding down as Theo surges upwards. </p><p>“You died,” Liam snarls, claws poking into Theo’s flesh. “I heard your heart stop, and then Scott came, and I thought you’d <em> died</em>.” </p><p>“I didn’t,” Theo murmurs against his mouth, hands guiding Liam’s hips, turning them both over, until Theo’s back slams fully against the driver’s door, and Liam’s hands roam across Theo’s face. Theo squeezes his eyes shut. “I <em> didn’t</em>.”  </p><p>Liam’s voice is softer, bordering on desperate as he looks down. “I thought you’d died, you <em> asshole </em>.” </p><p>“I’m alive, Liam,” He says, sneaking a hand under Liam’s shirt, reassuring both himself, and <em> Liam </em> , by pressing against the base of Liam’s spine. Theo’s laughing, suddenly, abruptly, without much control, and he knows he’s bordering on hysterical, thinking of Tara, and of Josh, and of Tracey, and the furious twist to his gut, because Liam’s hands are attached to either side of his face, squeezing tightly, trying to get Theo to look up; look at <em> him </em> . “I’m <em> alive</em>.” </p><p>Liam’s a little hysterical too, and he straightens, pulling Theo with him, forcing Theo to meet his eyes. “<em> Jesus</em>, how many times have you almost died?” </p><p>Theo doesn’t answer, just continues laughing, because he doesn’t know, he thinks, <em> maybe too little,  maybe too many.  </em></p><p>“You’re an idiot,” Liam states then, and his lips are ghosting over Theo’s again, his fingers spasm against Theo’s jawline. “And I hate you.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Theo says, catching Liam’s mouth with his own. He smiles, leaning into the kiss. “I can tell.” </p><p>~</p><p>It’s quiet in the McCalls’ kitchen, and through the window over the sink, Theo watches as Liam and Alec engage in an extremely watered-down version of fight club, eyes glowing and claws extended, rolling around the grass as both Corey and Mason cup their hands around their mouths, shouting out words of encouragement as Alec body slams Liam with vicious force.  </p><p>There’s a presence by his side, and Theo turns slightly, nodding in acknowledgment at Scott, who smiles, soft and secret, following Theo’s gaze out into his back garden, chest puffing, revelling in the feeling of home, and <em> pack</em>. His eyes bleed red for just a moment, and Theo stiffens, before they’re back to their usual dark brown, and the tension in the air dissipates, like it wasn’t even there, like Scott didn’t even notice. And Theo realises that he probably <em> hadn’t</em>. </p><p>“They’re good kids,” Scott says, and Theo can feel the pride radiating from the Alpha’s every pore. They both keep their eyes fixated on the rather bloody wrestling match, watching as Liam gets a strike across Alec’s chest, and then, as Alec retaliates by punching Liam in the nose. There’s no foul play, Theo can tell, the two boys are laughing, smiling, bodies loose and moving in synchronisation. Theo wraps his fingers around the edge of the sink, feeling the cool press of ceramic, surprised, suddenly, by how <em> alike </em> Scott and his mother are. “They’re smart kids.” </p><p>Theo blinks, then his lips quirk upwards, a little helplessly. “I know.” </p><p>“You said you wanted to learn, right?” Scott asks, moving closer, entering Theo’s space, still staring out at Liam, and Alec, and Mason, and Corey. Theo nods, then swallows past his dry mouth, and the panic-induced bile that he’s <em> just </em> started getting used to. </p><p>“I needed my friends to help me figure everything out,” Scott admits, and then he’s glancing over his shoulder, looking at Malia- the representative for Stiles, and Lydia, and Derek, and Isaac, and <em> everyone </em> else who came before- who’s leaning against the doorframe, watching Theo, watching Scott, her posture relaxed, her expression blank. </p><p>She tips her head, slowly, carefully, and Theo’s eyes widen, eyes roving to the exposed length of her throat for just a moment, before he’s looking away, back at Scott, back out the window. Scott adds, gesturing pointedly, demonstratively, out into the back garden; “Let <em> them </em> help you figure it out.” </p><p>Liam looks up, blood congealed over his upper lip, smile wide and a little wild, palm shoving Alec’s face into the ground. Mason and Corey are laughing, jeering, before Mason launches himself forward, shoulder colliding with Liam’s, until they’re both on the ground too, right at Alec’s side. Corey looks down on them, still standing, offering a hand to Mason in an effort to help him up, which is a fatal mistake, as he immediately joins the three in a heap on the grass. </p><p>He swallows, and thinks, <em>yeah, maybe they can help me figure it out,</em> because he’s still <em>alive</em>, and when he looks out at their smiling faces, he realises, with jarring certainty, that being alive to see things, to learn things, is enough for now. So he glances back at Scott, and says; "I think I can do that." </p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it's over! i hope you all enjoyed, and that you liked this ending :) </p><p>(there was an alternative, much sadder ending, with copious amounts of angst and character grief that i thankfully didn't commit to, even though i was almost convinced) </p><p>stay tuned for the liam pov, and other works, because my obsession w teen wolf and these two has truly been revived.</p><p>if you guys enjoyed, maybe consider checking out my tumblr? yikeshereiam (feel free to talk and/or yell at me &lt;3)</p><p>(quick disclaimer since we're at the finish line; none of these character's are mine, all rights go to mtv and jeff davis)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, feedback is appreciated and I really hope you enjoyed!!</p><p>Also please let me know of any mistakes &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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